The Chimera: More Snake than Lion
by Apocalypso-33
Summary: HIATUS AU: It does not pay to underestimate Harry Potter. Illusions are shattered as a young Lord rises to power and casts off those that deter him. Independant!Political!Powerful!Dark!Harry, HarryChoTonks
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

A flash of silver glinted in the pale light of the chamber. The burgeoning shadows cast by flickering flames lent an ethereal glow to the dancing figure.

Silver flashed again, and then a flurry of bright flashes and a few sparks momentarily lit up the room, reflecting the flames from the various torches. The blade stood poised, held threateningly towards an imaginary opponent. Orange flames reflected on the blade as a second joined it, the image of the fire immortalized in glinting metal preserved for a split second.

Then the dance ceased as the blades were lowered to stand unthreateningly to each side of the figure. Fingers sprang apart with practiced ease as the blades disappeared, reappearing in worn leather holsters on the thighs of the man. Heavy breathing could finally be heard after the din of shuffling feet and crackling sparks died down, leaving a subdued aura to the chamber.

Marble pillars, once majestic, now stood withered and worn, the shimmering surface of an architectural marvel from an era long gone no longer as imposing as it had once been. Soft footsteps echoed in the chamber as the figure smoothly moved towards the nearby wall, approaching a massive frame of wood.

The figure in the portrait stared at him appraisingly for a few minutes, and then gave a reluctant applause. Then, raising an eyebrow, it took stance and pulled out its own daggers, going through the routine as an example for him. A beautiful dance of death ensued in the portrait as he watched, mesmerized by the smooth, seamless manner in which the figure danced through the imaginary opponents, accomplishing the movements with a grace that still evaded him.

He bowed as the painted teacher finished, signifying his respect for the skill of the man.

"Amazing, Master. I feel I was a little open on my right, and I over-extended myself on the third lunge."

"Agreed. You could add some practice in to fix those mistakes, and also get rid of your irritating propensity to stumble during the second turn. Remember; think of it like a dance."

He nodded solemnly, not in the least fazed by the demeaning manner in which he was instructed. Thus, he was surprised when his teacher smirked at him and inclined his head, stating "However, it _was_ nearly perfect, so congratulations. Complacency must not set in, boy; it will spell your demise.

"Now, there are three books that you must take with you. The first is on Magical Traveling, it should be on the second shelf of the first row of cupboards. You also need the books on removing tracking charms and body replacement. Those you will have to search for. I expect you to conjure a replica of your body to fool that one-eyed fellow you spoke of, and continue training with me this summer. Nullify the tracking charms on your Holly wand, it is time for you to learn the art of dual-wand dueling. You should be able to apparate here, and I give you the first two weeks to learn and master how to accomplish these feats. Your training will generally cover the political aspects of your future. You will finally reach the age of majority for the old families, and it is crucial that you manipulate this advantage in the best possible way. Now leave, your time of departure is nearing."

"Of course, Lord Slytherin. Your Apprentice gratefully thanks you for your expert tutelage. Farewell."

The man gruffly replied "Farewell, young Heir." That was the closest the closeted man would come to displaying any emotion.

He bowed again and left the room.

Opening a worn door on the far side of the chamber, he perused the Library for about ten minutes until he found the books he was looking for. Shaking dust accumulated over centuries off the tomes, he waved a hand over them, causing them to shrink to the size of matchboxes. Carefully, he arrayed them on the nearby table, and placed both sheathed daggers next to the shrunken books. Lightly, he ran a finger over the silver lines that ran along the length of each wand holster, and they slipped off his forearms easily.

Then, he trudged into the ornate bathroom through a nearby door, and stripped down before he dived into the large pool of water. Fifteen minutes later, he was thoroughly refreshed, all traces of sweat from his body having disappeared. An expression of extreme reluctance on his face, he regarded his body in the slightly foggy mirror. Appraising eyes ran over the reflection of the toned, muscular body created from five years of hard dueling, swordplay, dagger-wielding and intensive exercise. Shaking his head in annoyance, he lifted a circular band from the sink-side table. His eyes roamed over the runes inlaid into the black band, an inch wide construction that would stand a grand total of two millimeters above his skin.

Irritably, he clasped it onto his upper right arm, placing it just above the bulge of his bicep. It clasped into place with an audible click, and the runes began glowing as they revolved around the band slowly. Nimble fingers tapped a few of the runes, and the man's body seemed to shrink. From the height of nearly six feet, it shrank down to 5"8, and his body lessened in mass as his defined musculature disappeared, to be replaced by a skinny body that had only the minimum musculature on it. A sigh escaped his lips as he saw his hair, which was done in the regular pureblood fashion of a loose ponytail; recede into his scalp to form an unruly mop of hair that stuck up on all sides. His eyes lost focus, vision blurring terribly. Groaning inwardly, he picked up the plastic-framed glasses lying on the counter and slid them on his face, watching the world come back in focus. A dejected look at the mirror later, the man, no, the boy, returned to his duties.

A few waves of his hands over the soiled clothes he had been wearing caused them to be rinsed, dried and unwrinkled spectacularly, also lending them a pleasant scent. He donned them quickly, and looked to his wristwatch. It indicated that he had but half an hour until the carriages were to leave, so he hastened to depart. He placed the shrunken books in his pocket, adding the two daggers in as well once he shrank them. Quickly strapping the holsters to his forearms, he disillusioned the one on his left, bearing the wand of the Great Salazar Slytherin, his ancestor.

He placed his hand on the wall and whispered something, a curious hiss escaping his lips. He disappeared, to reappear somewhere in the bowels of the school half a mile above him. In the chamber below, the portrait lost its stiff demeanor as it conjured a chair for itself and sank down into it.

'_Excellent,'_ it mused. _'He has learnt exceptionally well…performing skills successfully much faster than I did. His motivation is truly strong. He shall be formidable some day."_

**

* * *

**

Ten minutes later, he was walking through the corridors and halls of Hogwarts Castle. He stopped on the seventh floor, in front of the portrait of a rather large woman bedecked in a frilly pink dress. Suppressing his inner Slytherin distaste, he muttered _"Merlin,"_ causing the portrait to swing open to reveal a veritable bustle of people.

Some activity stopped as the two people nearest to the entrance to the male dormitory leaped at him, immediately firing off questions.

Plastering a look of dejection on his face, he muttered "Sorry. I was thinking. I'll see you down there." The two watched as he dejectedly trudged up the stairs to the Fifth Year Boys' Room, shooting glances at each other in a wholly obvious manner.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Harry Potter lost the look of dejection on his face, replacing it with an emotionless countenance. Making sure that no-one else was around, he waved a hand, intoning _"Pack!"_

The packing spell worked to perfection as his clothes and other assorted items folded themselves neatly and flew into his waiting trunk.

He removed the daggers and books from his pocket and undid the shrinking spell on them. Carelessly, he tossed the books into the trunk, and then made to put the daggers in. The daggers were once gloriously made, but their luster had faded over the years in the same manner that the Chamber had become dilapidated. They were daggers only in name, as they were about sixteen inches long from the tip of the blade to the base of the handle. They were war blades, meant for close combat and wielded by those who had exceptional skill in manipulating their bodies to avoid blows and spells. The once shiny blades had become rusty, and they weren't entirely suited to his style, the rigidly straight handle not too comfortable. Additionally, he disliked wearing them on his thighs, preferring to wear them on his back. Over the summer, he decided, he would hunt for daggers that were slightly longer and much more fitted to his style and grip. He knew that the majority of the pureblood faction still believed in teaching at least up to an average level of swordplay, so chance were that he could commission one of the smithies in one of the alleys to create the daggers for him. If all else failed, there were plenty of muggles who could do a fantastic job, as long as he had the enchantments prepared himself.

Sighing, he waved his hand again, causing the trunk to shrink to the size of a deck of cards. Reaching into his shirt, he placed it inside his shirt pocket, and looked around the room one last time. Nothing remained that belonged to him, so he walked out of the room. He took his time walking down to the gates of the school to find the carriages that would bear the students down to the Train Station in Hogsmeade.

As he prepared to enter a carriage, he absently admired the powerful steeds that were the Thestrals, awkwardly remembering the flight to London that had culminated in the death of his Godfather. Oddly enough, the thought of Sirius did not bring tears to his eyes, although grief did cloud his thoughts for a moment. Salazar had forced him to accept death after the demise of Cedric Diggory, and he had come to accept that death was simply a culmination of life, neither to be celebrated nor mourned. His Godfather had been close to him, the summer before his Fifth year had seen to that, but Harry was loathe to begrudge his Godfather the ultimate release when he knew that Sirius had lived a life that was far from picture-perfect. He chose, instead, to celebrate the life of the man who had been his godfather, and to acknowledge the fact that Sirius, at the very least, was not undergoing any more torture. Harry had spent an average of four to six hours a day with Sirius, simply being with him and hearing him regale obnoxiously funny tales of the Marauders, and he chose to let these times constitute what he thought of in context with Sirius, refusing to associate his memories of his Godfather with Azkaban and death.

Entering the carriage, Harry was drawn further into his thoughts, musing upon his life and how it had come to be.

Sirius had been the only person alive who had known all of Harry's secrets, his friend, confidante and Godfather. He was the only one who knew what Harry actually looked like, the only one to know what his Godson was capable of. There was a reason that Harry had wanted to go to the Department of Mysteries alone. He had known that he would be able to fight to his full potential without his friends weighing him down, and he had been right, having to carry them through the ordeal. However, fate had dealt its hand in the form of one obnoxiously bossy Hermione Granger, who had put her foot down and tacitly demanded that Harry take them along as well.

Wryly, Harry thought _'If only the idiot girl could put that much effort into a friendship rather than into spying on her friend.'_

He had known of Ron and Hermione's 'defection' mere weeks after it had started after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Hermione had been a good friend to him, loyal and helpful. It would be unfair to say that her betrayal was caused by her love for authority figures, but it was a part of the truth. She, like most Muggleborns before her, had fallen into the belief that Dumbledore was omnipotent. Through her five years at Hogwarts, despite the failings of the school to live up to its reputation as the most secure place in the world, she continually bolstered her beliefs due to Dumbledore's sense of presence. The old Headmaster certainly held an air of power, even if he looked like a joke, and the Muggleborns tended to look upon him as an example of what Wizards should be like: powerful, kind and intelligent. She, like the others, had cemented their belief in him so firmly that they even reflected his unadvertised opinions. Consequently, Hermione found Umbridge distasteful, as she was seeking to supplant Dumbledore, and she found Fudge useless, as he was far from having the intelligence that Dumbledore had. The D.A. which she had suggested was an idea thought up by Dumbledore and passed on to her; another little obstacle for his Golden Boy to tackle admirably. Harry had gone along with it simply out of sympathy for those that would actually suffer due to Umbridge's ineptness, knowing that he would easily ace his OWLs without a problem.

Then there was Ron. Ron was a fickle friend, in the same manner that fame was a fickle friend. At times that Harry would be publicized in the Daily Prophet; Ron was a gruff, irritable idiot, his jealousy rampant and obvious. At other times, Ron had no qualms about buttering Harry up and pretending to love him like a brother. It was time, Harry mused, to let go of certain deadweights in his life. Ron would be one of the first to go…he had no use for misguided and false loyalty. His position in the war had just solidified and elevated right to the top, and mistakes could cost him his life. Hermione could be useful, he knew, for with her ability to apply herself to a task, she could be a good resource. All that needed to be seen was whether it was worth the time that it would take to cultivate such a resource, for it would doubtlessly take a while for him to turn her away from Dumbledore. Hard evidence would not be good enough for her; she would need to have a complete documentation of the Headmaster's life before she would even believe that he had spat on the sidewalk.

Admittedly, it had taken two years for him to realize this, and that too, not on his own. It was not until a trip to the Chamber of Secrets two days before the end of his Second year that he had learnt of his friends' infidelity. What had started as a simple trip to satisfy some curiosity had ended up revealing earthshaking revelations. The portrait's curious enchantment of legilimency, similar to what the Sorting Hat used, had opened up a few erased memories and had pointed out certain actions and statements that had seemed innocent enough at the time. Upon finding that his memories had been tampered with so blatantly, Harry had started learning Occlumency from that summer, perfecting the basic shields by the time he left for his third year. Of course, he was only just nearing the completion of his advanced shields, since Voldemort's advances and Snape's aggressive teaching had hindered his progress considerably. With his memories returned, it had been a painful few months for him, having to force himself to be outwardly friendly towards a person who had betrayed his trust so blatantly. He had been surprised to know that Hermione had also joined the 'spies', since he had honestly thought that she cared for him, what with the incredible loyalty she had displayed towards him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He supposed that it was the sight of Cedric's dead body that had caused her to defect, possibly due to some misguided belief that Harry would eventually get her killed, too.

There was no reason to make a mistake about it; Ron and Hermione _were_ his friends, honestly caring for him to some extent. Unfortunately, the friendship did not run as deep as the three of them portrayed it to be. Secrets that were kept from each other caused a rift in the friendship, one noticeable only if each action was viewed with careful scrutiny. Harry did not feel hate towards them, but certainly felt a certain dislike. He was simply disgusted by the fact that they had devalued his friendship to such an extent, buttering him up to the face while stabbing him in the back. He had already resolved himself to keep from causing a scene at the eventual end of the Golden Trio, as long as they did the same. However, and he noted this with no small amount of satisfaction, Ron would certainly take a swing or two. He sighed again, knowing that Ron wasn't smart enough to use magic in times of stress, the idiotic boy turned to physical force like a bloody _muggle_. He would enjoy disciplining the brat, he decided and betrayal was a terrible thing

It was unfortunate, he mused, that simply for appearances sake, he had been condemned to friendship with them. Until he received the Lordship of his Family, he would be unable to strike out on his own, and couldn't afford for Dumbledore to circumvent his plans before he could even attempt them. As of now, Dumbledore believed that Harry had no clue as to how the Wizarding World operated, so he had not tried to intervene yet. This, of course, would change drastically within a month and a half. The old man was a dangerous opponent, both in terms of magic and intelligence. He had spent years carefully manipulating people into doing his bidding, and had solidified his status from a powerful teacher into the benevolent Headmaster and the leader of the Supreme Court of Wizards.

Albus Dumbledore would certainly prove to be a worthy opponent.

**

* * *

**

Silently musing, he left the carriages and climbed onto the train, selecting a compartment. A wave of his hand caused the trunk to expand to its full size, and he pushed it under the seat. Closing his eyes, he leaned back to think more on what would happen this summer.He would turn sixteen, the age that one's magical maturity would take place. Magical maturity was the time at which the magical core stabilized and became more efficient in using magic. No longer would his spells bleed energy and lose power as they flew. He would not become more powerful, as that was impossible without using rituals. Instead, the magic would pulsate as it changed, engineering itself to run more efficiently. The magical blocks that Dumbledore had placed on him would fall apart under the onslaught of his changing magic, and he would finally reach his true potential, one that was forcibly kept from him. An _equal_ indeed; he would surpass Dumbledore by far in terms of raw magic. Experience, knowledge and skill, however, would still evade him. Salazar's tutelage and unfettered access to the Black library would help in this regard, although it would certainly take a long time for him to master all that he needed to know.

Salazar had explained the prophecy to him in context with his own magic. Voldemort had already expanded his magic to its maximum possible level by Halloween 1981, and when he marked Harry, Harry was made his equal in terms of magic. Dumbledore had then placed the blocks on him. Harry already had a block on him from his parents, to cease the incredible level of accidental magic that he was displaying. Then, Dumbledore had placed enough blocks on him to not only limit how much of the suddenly expanded magic was available to him, but to also reduce the level down until he would be a slightly powerful wizard for his age. Of course, Dumbledore anticipated that the maturation would cause the blocks to fail, but he obviously planned to replace the blocks on him immediately, something that Harry would certainly avoid. A block could not be removed by anyone except for its caster once magical maturity had taken place, so he would be in a lot of trouble. Dumbledore apparently expected him to suddenly burst the dams when he confronted Voldemort, and die as a result of the explosion of magic, taking the Dark Lord with him.

Of course, after his magical maturity, and the final stabilization of his magic, he would be permitted by his master to go through rituals that were too dangerous to perform before, including one which would prevent any further blocks being placed on him. The only ritual he had gone through was the Ritual of Restoration, which had undone the effects of starvation and beatings from his childhood, including the scars. Of course, He had been forced to individually remove and re-grow most of the bones in his body due to their vulnerability and weakness, and had then had to take calcium supplements to reinforce his spine and skull, the ones he could not re-grow or remove. He had, under the guidance of his master, built the restrictor band around his upper arm that masked his true appearance. The runes and charms used on it were so extensive that it had taken him eight months to finish it before he could perform the first ritual. After all, it would not do for anyone to know what he really looked like, and what he was capable of. Also, the fact that it was a ritual would definitely go down as a Dark act, and since he was _Harry Potter_, he could expect no sympathy from the public, abusive childhood or not. In the future, he supposed, the Vampire Ritual would help him to become smoother with his movements and emulate his master more while he fought. Of course, it would also lend him the Vampiric grace to be looked upon favorably by the Pureblood faction of those that he needed to enamor.

On a personal level, of course, being the student of Salazar Slytherin himself tended to dull one's protests towards the use and effects of Dark Magic. His naïve idiosyncrasies had been shot down vehemently by his ancestor, who pointed out that it was the most powerful magic that existed, and as long as one performed the simple Cleansing Ritual once a year, one would never have to worry about being turned into a deviant. Voldemort, it seemed, had purposely neglected to perform the cleansing, feeling that his aims would be better served if he was to allow the chaotic energies of Dark Magic to fuel his drive for World Domination. Over time, it had mutated him, and had intensely skewed his mindset and turned his thoughts malignant and hateful.

He suppressed his slight irritation as the others found him, entering the cabin noisily and pervading the once tranquil atmosphere of the cabin with their boisterous activity.

For a while, he fielded their questions with expert nonchalance, avoiding sensitive topics as usual, and simply endured their chatting. Eventually, things calmed down after Luna stopped with her inane comments, Ron and Hermione stopped rolling their eyes at her, and Ginny shut up about her boyfriends. She had been looking him right in the eye when she said that Cho Chang was now going out with Michael Corner, her ex-boyfriend. He nearly puked at the insinuation that the swap should be complete, that Harry should naturally go out with Ginny. He peacefully closed his eyes, throwing an amused smile at Neville, who wore a similar expression of barely concealed irritation. The boy blushed at being caught. Harry was slightly perplexed, although he still wore a poker face. He couldn't for the life of him fathom why _Neville_ of all people would wear a sneer of almost respectable proportions; the boy was frankly useless to his purposes, but this sneer provided some hope. After all, wooing the favor of the Longbottom family would allow him to garner some support from the sympathetic Light Wizards who knew of the fate of the Longbottoms. Then again, the fact that he was _Harry Potter_ would woo them anyway, as long as he played his cards right.

Using some slight legilimency, Harry divined that he was feeling nervous about his magical maturity and what it would bring. Of course, he would then have to assume the Lordship of his family, and represent the Longbottom family at the International Confederation of Wizards and at the Wizengamot House of Lords. Also, he was nervous of how powerful he would get, wondering whether he would ever surpass the near-squib status that he was at. The magical maturity was certainly something to be nervous about. It depended on the time taken to undergo the maturity.

Average wizards and witches went through an hour or so of extreme illness while their magic pulsated and moved around within them. Ron had been incapacitated for an hour and a half, which resulted in some irritating gloating the next day. Harry had not bothered to ask, but Dumbledore had refused him the use of the Maturity Chamber at Hogwarts over the summer, saying that it was too dangerous for him to leave Privet Drive. Harry had peacefully agreed, increasing the old man's impression that Harry would be his malleable toy. His passive legilimency had told him that Dumbledore was thinking of a way to take control of the voting rights of the Potter family from Harry, wondering just how he should ask Harry for the position of Proxy of the Potters.

Harry, however, had no intention to fold. He held the most powerful cards in the deck, and he would use them to his benefit.

Now, considering Harry's apparent ease with using Legilimency, one would postulate that if he had the requisite skill in Occlumency, why did he fall prey to Voldemort's visions? The connection that the scar caused between the minds of Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort was on a level so intimate that simple Occlumency would not hold him out. The connection of the scar was stuck deep inside Harry's mind, and the tear between minds was rather large. Harry had only identified the tear about three months ago, and had set about trying to build a shield that entirely encircled it. He had, by now, completed only an eighth of the shield, and it would take at least another month to complete it, now that the framework for the shield was complete. Passive legilimency was almost like empathy, as it picked up surface thoughts due to one's mind being unguarded. Obviously, Dumbledore felt no need to keep his shields at full power while he spoke with Harry, as he believed that the young man was not capable of legilimency. Unfortunately, the day of the History exam, his sudden lull caused him to forget his Occlumency shields before he fell asleep, and his unprepared mind was easily convinced that the vision was real. Of course, he had tried to verify it just in case, but circumstances put the proverbial boot in his ass. It was unfortunate, but at least Sirius was in a better place now.

How did he know that? One word: Salazar. The year 983 had seen a rather gruesome experiment. A rape convict was thrown through the veil after a pint of blood was removed from him. A location spell and a few handy status charms on the blood had quite frankly spelled out the fact that the man was dead and gone rather than held in limbo. So, Harry knew that Sirius was in a better place, at least compared to the hell on earth that was Number 12 Grimmauld Place. However, he convinced himself, it was time to stop thinking about that.

**

* * *

**

An hour into the four hour journey, Harry stood up and left the compartment, claiming he was visiting the restroom and going to meet some of the other guys. Striding out of the compartment, he heaved a silent sigh of relief. As he stalked down the aisles, he surreptitiously reached into the sleeve of his robe to touch a few of the runes on the armband and push some magic into it. The armband responded appropriately, undoing some of the miniaturization that it had placed on his body. He grew taller by about an inch, an unnoticeable difference, and some of the meat was added back to his bones, hardening into muscle. Still, he no longer looked wasted away by far, just skinny.He finally found the compartment that he was looking for, and slipped in silently. A slim girl with exotic oriental features looked up at him, the beginnings of a smile on her face. He threw her a lopsided grin, raking his hand through his hair in the manner that he knew she found irresistible. A look of hunger entered her eyes, and she stood slowly. Pulling out her wand, she made it clear that she was no idiot by waving it at the door a few times, intoning a few simple yet powerful wards. The door melted into the wall, the blinds closed shut and a silencing and privacy ward was erected.

Grinning rakishly, Harry tugged at his robe, feeling it loosen and slip to the floor. A wave of his wand caused the rest of his clothes to vanish, and he stood there stark naked in front of her. She raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over his body appreciatively. A look into his eyes told her what was coming next, as his wand waved again with a whispered spell, causing her clothes to vanish as well. A squeal emerged from her throat as she leapt at him, slamming him into the seat.

As she devoured his entirely willing mouth, an absent tap of his wand on the seat caused it to enlarge so that the horizontal part expanded to the size of a bed, creating more room for them. He flipped them over easily, and lay poised over her, eyes boring into hers. They traveled down the length of her body, noting the slightly tanned skin, average-sized breasts, flat stomach and long legs.

She was a sight to behold, which was why Harry truly felt bad that he did not love her.

Of course, with enough effort, he would, but as things were right now, he did not. He certainly possessed great _affection_ for her, but that was it. He knew that one day, he could fall in love with her, and he certainly did not regard that as an unwelcome thing. He knew that there was no way that he could repudiate her, not with the great affection that he felt for her. As a Lord of more than one Family, he was entitled to two wives, and he could only hope that she would consent to being his lesser wife. He would have to talk to her some day, to tell her all about it, but until he made his moves, this was impossible. She was beautiful, loving and kind, and her intelligence was a certain plus in his book.

Despite being the student of Salazar Slytherin, Harry still held out hope for true love. While his ancestor was sarcastic and anything but naïve, the idea of true love certainly appealed to Harry. The idea that he might have a person on his life who would love and cherish him for who he was, to support and advise him was one that he truly wanted to believe in. The stunningly beautiful woman on his lap right now was more than in love with him, he knew, but he couldn't help but think that this was not true love for him. He felt deeply for her, but she was not the woman who would ultimately complete him, even though she came close.

**----/LEMON CUT/----**

Will be posted on Ficwad under user: Apocalypso

**----/LEMON CUT/----**

For an hour they simply laid there, Harry gently stroking her silky black hair. She was tracing doodles around his nipple in an idle fashion, apparently utterly spent already. Of course, the close proximity of their crotches had caused Harry to develop an erection within fifteen minutes of his climax, but he could tell that she was spent, and made no move to recommence their activities. His hands gently slipped down her back, sliding along her lovely hair to rest on each cheek of her rear. A gentle squeeze, accompanied by an unintended '_jump'_ caused her to slowly raise her head and rest her chin on his chest as she stared into his eyes. He grinned at her with slight regret in his gaze and whispered "I have to go."

She nodded; an action that didn't quite work out considering her chin was pressed to his chest. He laughed at the odd movement of her head, and leaned up to kiss her forehead. "The others will wonder where I was. I'll see you by the 1st of August?" It came out more as a question than a statement, and she could see the hesitancy in his eyes. She smiled, making the same movement again, and he grinned.

"You know," he said in a conversational tone, "you're gonna have to get up, or I won't be able to leave."

She stuck her tongue out childishly, and mumbled "What a shame," but rolled off anyways. Rolling onto his side, he caressed her cheek gently as he stared into her eyes, and whispered "Beautiful." Then, he got up and dressed, flicking his wand to cause both sets of clothes to materialize back on them. A useful little set of spells she had found, which he had learnt from her immediately. As he pulled his robe back on, for the spell for some reason refused to work on clothes with charms on them, she pouted at the lack of skin contact between them. Grinning, he hauled her to her feet and lifted her in the air, holding her up by the buttocks. She rested her forehead against his, but he insistently kissed her, his lips gently sucking on hers. As he broke away, his tongue flicked out to touch her lips, and she nearly moaned in anticipation at the innocent gesture.

He moved to leave, but the expression of longing and love in her eyes was too endearing. Sighing, he pulled her into his arms and kissed the crown of her head. With beautiful doe-eyes, she looked up at him, caressing his cheeks with impossibly soft hands as her gaze traveled over his face, trying to memorize each feature. He ran his fingers through her hair, admiring the silky black tresses that cascaded to the middle of her back in a beautiful waterfall. He pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, eyes, cheek and nose, finally leaning in to kiss her lips slowly. Unlike the passion-filled kisses that they usually gave each other, this one was slow and affectionate.

She smiled at him brilliantly as they parted, and he caressed her cheek again. "I'll miss you." She whispered it forlornly, leaning into his hand. His nose brushed against hers as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss was passionate as they furiously devoured each others' mouths. As their tongues met, she shivered and latched onto him harder, pressing her body flush against his. He stiffened noticeably as his hands grasped her buttocks, kneading the flesh of her ass with abandon.

Pulling away, he touched her lips with his fingers and whispered "I'll try to meet you as soon as possible. I swear it."

She smiled again, an action that lifted his spirits, and whispered "I love you." He nodded, serious, and replied "I know."

As he pulled away, he felt a tug in his heart seeing her forlorn expression. She loved him more than anything else in the world, her fling with Cedric a year ago being nothing more than that: a fling. Her pain at the time was caused by the loss of her childhood friend, the daring and chivalrous boy who had known her since she was eight. Now, when she had found the person that she was in love with, he was being taken away from her, and it hurt to know that she would not see him for a long time. The pain and love in her eyes was too much for him to bear, and he hugged her tightly as she let out a few tears into his clothes.

He pulled away a few inches and looked into those emotion-filled eyes, staring deep into her soul. It was as if a dam had broken within him, and he was forced to acknowledge that the last few minutes had been the ones to ensure the transition from affection to love. The fact that he would not see her for at least a month had incited the feeling within him that he would miss her more than he had originally thought. Caressing her cheek, he whispered "Cho…I love you." Another tear escaped her eye as she knew he meant it, and she burrowed her face into his neck, embracing him tightly. She would treasure this moment, when the love of her life admitted to reciprocating her feelings for him.

But still, she knew, it would not be enough. Even if he could not tell, she knew that one single woman would not complete him. She would hold a special place in his heart for all eternity, but there was another space that needed to be filled, a slightly larger space that would finally complete him. She knew that he would do anything to make sure that he didn't hurt her. Still, despite her utmost desire to have him all to herself, her love for him was more powerful, and it recognized his plight.

As she pulled away from a loving kiss, she whispered "We'll talk in August. Harry, I love you, but I'm not the only one for you. I don't have to like it, but…I will not let you be hurt. Just…just know that I love you."

He wrapped her in his arms, embracing her tightly, the tight leash on his emotions finally being loosened. He pressed a kiss to her lips, savoring the taste of her mouth. "I love you" he whispered against her lips, eyes closed.

One last kiss and a promise filled stare later he was gone from her cabin. She sat down on the seat that was now returned to normal, and picked up the once discarded book again. Sighing gently, she began reading.

Harry walked back to the compartment with easy steps, thoughts rocketing around his mind like cannonballs. Taking a deep breath, he suppressed the thoughts, knowing that he couldn't dwell on them now. A wave of his hand over his body, an entirely innocent movement, caused his sweat to disappear and his body and clothes to take on a pleasant smell of musk. A few quick taps and a slight pause outside the cabin caused his body to shrink down to the size his friends knew. Adjusting his robes, he entered the cabin, pleased to find that all except Luna were sleeping. She stared at him with her protuberant eyes, holding her gaze with her unnerving stare. Still, he refused to blink or look away.

Finally, she turned back to the upside down magazine in her hands and mumbled audibly "At least you replaced the smell."

Harry nearly choked, both out of disbelief and laughter. Managing to keep his face impassive, he gave no impression that he had heard a thing, and stared resolutely out of the window. The glens of Scotland were no longer rolling by his view as the train ambled on. Now, Harry could see the beginnings of small towns that would build up to the large city of London in about an hour.

**

* * *

**

At long last, the train ride ended, and Harry waved a half-hearted goodbye to his 'friends'. He passed by Cho as he walked, and gave her a fleeting look in the eye that was filled with love. She returned his gaze, and they silently moved away, not stopping even once. As he made his way over to the corpulent form of Vernon Dursley, he was sidetracked by Lupin, Tonks and Moody. They took great pleasure in informing the Dursleys that if Harry was mistreated, they would be in big trouble. Harry stayed impassive, for he had a huge box full of nutrient potions that would help him live through the summer even if he was locked in his room. Add to that the fact that he was in possession of Salazar's wand, and Harry Potter could make their lives terrible. Moody muttered something about how he was back on the Auror forces, and wouldn't be able to supervise Harry over the summer. This was good news, for Harry would no longer have study in secret for fear of being seen through the walls. He ignored the gruff old man; not having forgotten what he heard at St. Mungo's earlier in the year.The words _"There's something funny about that Potter boy"_ had left him with a sure impression of Moody, and he had no intention of placing any trust in the man at all.

Tonks turned to him with a slight smile on her beautiful features. She had a knowing glint of mischievousness in her eyes as she leaned in and muttered "I'll see you soon, Harry. Keep your spirits up, okay?" He smiled tiredly at her, an honest action, and received a hug in response. He squeezed back and let go, allowing her to pull away. He wanted to know what the knowing glint was about, but unlike Dumbledore, Harry had no intention of snooping where his mind did not belong, simply to satisfy curiosity.

Lupin, who looked better than normal, clasped his shoulder and said "I'll see you around, Harry. Remember, it _wasn't_ your fault! Don't beat yourself up about it." Harry gave him a smile and nodded, knowing that he placed no blame on himself.

It was too easy to blame himself if he thought irrationally. He had taken the time to check at Grimmauld Place, and he had told Snape, who chose not to mention a thing for a good two hours. Even after the half-hour altercation with Umbridge as well as the hour and a half long flight to London, it still took the Order a good thirty to forty minutes to show up, all due to his ineptness. If it wasn't for the two of them, Sirius would be alive. Plus, Harry had wanted to go by himself. He would have been able to get in and out without any problems, but because of the other five with him, he was forced to rein in his skills and use simple curses and hexes. In the final battle near the arch, he would have been able to decimate all but Dolohov, Rookwood and Bellatrix, who were superior in magic and dueling skills at the time, and would have been able to save his Godfather. In any case, he had no intention of leaving anyone alive to tell of his skills, so he had to suppress them, knowing that some would get away to tell Voldemort if he exhibited his skills. His original plan was to take them out individually using stealth, or to fire an extremely destructive curse into their midst and pick off the remainders.

_Bellatrix_. How he loathed her…for two days after the incident, he had had daydreams of torturing her. In that time, he had wished so hard to be able to cause her pain, to destroy all the she cherished. He wanted to rape her, to utterly dominate her; he wished to cause her such pain and humiliation that she would break. He wanted her to know, in her last moments, that he had taken everything from her; her honor, her pride, her very life. He wanted her to die knowing that he had violated her completely. But then, his thoughts had left her as he vowed to himself to keep from crossing the line as such. No doubt about it, he would kill her painfully, but he would not assault her like a common animal. He would simply repay her with the pain that she had left him.

Shaking his head of his thoughts, he followed Vernon to the car and got in, having put his trunk in the back. The ride home was peaceful, although Vernon was turning several shades of red and purple, allowing Harry to amuse himself by gauging how long it would take the fat man to explode. Two hours later, as they rounded the road, Harry once again found himself sneering at the disgusting uniformity of the houses on Privet Drive. Their flawlessness irritated him to no extent, seeing as it was more of a shoddy attempt to make the houses seem more opulent than to actually refrain from littering or keeping the houses immaculate. Of course, Petunia and the rest of the old biddies on the block all competed in the amount of cleanliness they could enforce, each trying to outdo the rest. Vernon caught his sneer in the rearview mirror, but wisely said nothing, although he purpled even more.

Getting out in front of Number 4, Harry dragged his trunk to his room, and collapsed on the bed with a sigh. He was tired from the activity earlier, and decided to shower and sleep. Irritatedly, he stood and closed the blinds on the windows, and stripped off to his underwear. Knowing that he was at liberty to do as he pleased at home, he tapped a few runes on his armband, and took it off. Immediately, his body began to grow in size, reaching its real size in a few seconds. Sighing with relief at the sensation of being back in his true form, he placed the armband on the rickety desk and lifted up a towel. Then, with a scowl, he noted that his family could not see him in this form, for Dumbledore would be informed by a hysterical set of Dursleys, ranting about his supposed 'freakishness'. Slamming his fist down in the desk in irritation, he replaced the armband, letting it do its work.

He sauntered into the bathroom, smirking at Dudley, who took one look at his cousin, and let out an undignified _"Eeep!"_ Inwardly laughing at the piggish manner in which the boy reacted and scurried away, no doubt recalling the Dementors from last summer, he closed the door behind him and locked it. He fully stripped off and walked under the spray of hot water, allowing the massaging sensation of the water to soothe his skin. Apparently, he noted, the trip back in his Uncle's car had caused him to become sore, due to his odd position while he held Hedwig's cage and his broomstick. He groaned at the pain, deciding that it was just not his lucky day.

Twenty minutes later, he left the bathroom and returned to his room, where he walked in, letting the door shut behind him. He didn't spare a glance to the slight nook to the side of the door, and walked over to the desk, staring through the cracks in the blinds at the setting sun outside. Pulling the towel off from around his waist, he carelessly tossed it behind him onto the bed, and stood naked in the room, believing that there was no-one to watch him at the moment. Absently, his fingers found the runes on the armband, and it came off, allowing him to return to his form.

Gazing at the armband in his hand with disdain as he tapped the runes, he muttered "One more month and I won't have to wear this damned thing anymore." He stretched languidly as he pulled it off his arm, releasing a crick in his back, and froze in place as he heard a gasp behind him.

Cursing his stupidity, he leapt to the side, whipping out Salazar's wand and firing a stunner.

The spell was batted away professionally, and he heard a woman's voice yell "Stop! Harry! It's me…Tonks!" He stood cautiously, his wand pointed straight at Tonks' heart.

"What the hell are you doing here Tonks?" he asked, no small amount of annoyance audible in his tone. He ignored his current state of undress, knowing that being dead was worse than being embarrassed.

She lowered her wand and threw his towel to him, which he caught in a deft movement and wrapped it around himself.

Grinning, with a slight blush suffusing her cheeks, she said "Well, I said I'd see you soon. Nice reception, by the way. I wasn't expecting the show."

She had thought he would be embarrassed, but was disappointed to note that not even the slightest blush graced his cheeks. She began to find it a little uncomfortable to be under his intense gaze, and shifted nervously, inwardly cursing the fact that the view was so bloody distracting. He _had_ grown up well, and that _thing_ between his legs…well, diplomatically put, it would make some woman extremely happy some day.

"And what exactly are you doing in my room, Tonks? I don't remember asking you to come here." His voice was cold, as she had found out one of his major secrets, and information like this would cause Dumbledore to come crashing down on him. All issues of trust were thrust aside mercilessly as he put his own personal welfare and future ahead of all other things. He could not fail when he had come so close!

She blushed again, cursing herself for doing so, and abashedly said "Well, I heard from Hermione last year that you had grown your hair back overnight after a bad haircut. That isn't normal accidental magic, so I think you might be a metamorphmagus. If you are, I'd be obligated to train you, so I came here to find out. If you are, I'll ask Dumbledore if I can train you this summer, and I'll have to stay here and do it."

He raised an eyebrow. This was…news to him. While he wanted to vehemently tell her to get the hell out and obliviate her, having a trained skill like wandless self-transfiguration could be a huge bonus. It would afford him the anonymity needed to conduct some of the more shady transactions that he would need to perform the rituals. He knew from a chat with her last year that it was not a skill that could be self taught, it required some intensive work with another metamorphmagus to learn.

He decided to floss a little, and asked "Will I have to register myself like I would have to if I were an Animagus?"

She blinked at the question, and said "Well…no, I guess. But people generally find out in any case, since you would let them now when you morph around them."

Harry raised an eyebrow and thought for a second. "I gather that no-one else knows about this, including Dumbledore?"

She nodded, and he looked pensive again. Curiosity burned at her, and she asked "Harry…why do you look like this? Did you morph? You couldn't have, it had something to do with that armband. So?"

He sat down on the bed and looked at her for a few seconds and then spoke. "Are you prepared to give me your Witch's Oath to never tell another soul anything of what you hear and see today in this room? This includes the fact that I am a Metamorphmagus, if I am found to be one. I need to get some things off my chest, and I have always felt comfortable with you, so I am willing to tell you about it if you take the Oath. If not, I'm afraid I will have to obliviate you…I can't afford to have anyone else know these secrets."

She blanched for a second, and then resumed her curious expression. She thought for a few seconds, and nodded slowly. He was minimally impressed; she was apparently not some foolhardy Gryffindor.

"I, Nymphadora Antlia Tonks, swear by soul and magic to never repeat anything that I hear from Harry James Potter in any shape or form, until such time that he holds my Oath fulfilled." Harry felt the tingle of magic link them, and he nodded decisively.

Raising an eyebrow, he muttered "Antlia?" She blushed, muttering something about it being a name of another galaxy or stellar object.

Relaxing a bit, he looked at her and started off by saying "In one month, I will turn roughly eighteen years old."

She fainted.

"Definitely a Hufflepuff" he muttered, waving his hand to cast a levitation spell on her before she hit the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry stared at Tonks' fallen form dispassionately. Muttering under his breath about 'accursed Hufflepuffs', he used his wand to conjure and animate a pink feather. A wave of his wand caused the feather to approach her face, and it began tickling her nostrils, moving to her ears as she failed to awaken.

Just as Harry was about to rethink his idea, Tonks woke up with a start and blushed as she realized that she had fainted. She walked over and sat on the bed next to Harry, looking at him intently.

"Eighteen? And how exactly will you turn eighteen?" she asked in a voice that was curious, not mocking.

Harry laid back on the bed with a sigh and said "Well, I've been training in the Chamber of Secrets since the end of my Second Year, and there is a time dilation of sorts in the Chamber. I've been training for roughly five years."

Rather than gasping, she nodded thoughtfully. "Training in what manner? And why did you say that you had to wait a month until you could stop wearing that band?"

He knew that he could trust her with all his secrets due to the Oath, but such an act would be a veritable insult to his inner Slytherin. He would only trust her with the basics, as it was always better if no one knew just exactly what he had hidden up his sleeve. It would do no good for him to reveal his hand before the war even moved into full pace. While he trusted her, he had no reason to believe that she wouldn't stand in his way herself, in some attempt to 'protect' him.

"Just general physical workouts, I guess. It was a good way for me to blow off some steam. Hogwarts in the last few years has been trying for me, and rather than blow up on some unsuspecting Hufflepuff, I decided to work my stress out down there. I also studied up on a bit of defensive magic…thought it would do some good to become at least semi-proficient with a wand."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unwilling to believe that he had spent years in the Chamber just working out and reading up on a _bit_ of magic. His estimation of her grew as he realized that she was not easily fooled.

'_Not a Hufflepuff, I guess.'_

"Right," she drawled, looking at him expectantly. "That information was certainly not worth the Oath I took."

He cracked a wry grin, eyes still locked on the ceiling, almost inquisitively gazing at the cracked plaster that was threatening to flake off. "True. But then again, as you can see, I've taken special care to make sure that no-one knew about it. Let my enemies underestimate me. Currently, you are the only person alive who knows about this, and thanks to that oath, it will stay as such. But yes, you are right; that isn't all that I studied."

She could see that he would not budge on telling her anymore, so she resigned herself to ignorance for the time being. "Very well. And that bit about waiting for a month?"

He replied "Well, after wearing that band for what has been five years, I've become entirely sick of it. I dunno if you get the same feeling when you stay in a morph too long, but it just gets annoying having to shift between different body sizes and having to make myself accustomed to the new sense of balance that I need."

She nodded. "That's why I get clumsy sometimes…even changing the length of my hair sometimes throws me off balance."

"Yeah, well I decided to stop wearing the thing anymore. So in a month or so, I'll stop using it entirely and pretend that I've been working out and hit a growth spurt."

She looked at him calculatingly, and said "You must have a special reason to do that. You've been hiding like this for five years, as you say, so doing it for longer doesn't seem like too large a stretch. Of course, this holds true only if you were truthful about deceiving your enemies into underestimating you. The sudden jump makes you look more dangerous, and it makes it far less easy to underestimate you."

He grimaced, closing his eyes. His appreciation for her was rising quick; she was smart and far from easy to fool. He decided to reveal another truth, knowing that she could not betray his confidence in any manner until he gave his approval. "I will ascend to the Lordship of my Family. I need to present a stronger front if I am to gather allies, and looking like a wastrel does not bolster my appeal."

She nodded. "Since you haven't trusted Dumbledore with this, I tend to believe that you are gathering allies for your own cause, not his."

The question was delicately phrased, daring him to confirm her observation. If he stayed silent, she could safely assume that he was not, in fact, supporting his own cause, but Voldemort's, or someone else's. If he answered negatively, she would know he was lying, and if he agreed, she would be in position to find out exactly what his agenda was.

He grimaced again, noting that her wand was in her hands, and was unobtrusively pointing into his side.

He sighed "You can put the wand away, Tonks. Yes, I am gathering allies for my own cause. This war has to be fought without Dumbledore controlling our effort. He might be powerful, but his tactics leave a lot to be desired. In this war, he can't be anything more than a fighter. The command needs to be reserved for people who are more suited to it."

She was silent for a few minutes, pondering his words.

Eventually, she broke the silence by asking "And will you be one of those to lead the fight?"

He turned to her, watching her intently. "What do you think, Tonks?"

His eyes told her what she needed to know. She decided to change the vein of the conversation.

"Okay. How long did your maturity last? Mine was a little over two hours long."

He shrugged, and said "Well, from what I gather of magic, it seems to depend on dates more than actual passage of time. For instance, I might be turning roughly eighteen in real terms in one month, but in the eyes of magic, I am still turning sixteen years old. My maturity will take place exactly sixteen years after I am born, so it is scheduled, for lack of a better word, for the 31st of July, 1996. For the same reason, I doubt I could simply go to Gringotts and take up my Lordship, since magic will register me as being under sixteen years of age. Quite a disappointment…it would have helped a hell of a lot if I had all my magic available at the graveyard that night, and at the Ministry. In any case, I could pass off the fact that I look a lot different as some weird side effect of the maturation."

She nodded, not seeming too shocked by the revelation. "I guess it has something to do with you reliving, or rather, stretching time as it actually passes." He nodded in reply, staying silent.

"Should we do the test now?" he asked. She nodded, and extracted an empty vial from her pocket. Unlike normal crystal vials, this one was a mottled green in color, and had streaks of red in the crystal.

"Put three drops of blood in the vial, and shake it around while holding it tightly. It won't break. When the vial turns blue, throw it on the ground." He nodded, not altogether surprised by the roundabout and odd manner in which things were done in the magical world.

He walked over to the desk to retrieve the penknife that Sirius gave him, leaving her alone on the bed. Pricking his finger, he let three drops of the crimson liquid flow from his finger into the vial, and corked it with his thumb.

Vigorously, he shook it, barely suppressing a blush when Tonks raised an eyebrow and smirked suggestively at the exact…_direction_ he was jerking the vial in. She seemed almost impressed by his expressionless countenance, but before he could read into it, the vial turned blue in color.

She nodded to him, and he flung the vial at the ground, and watched it break into a million pieces. A pale orange smoke rose out of the crushed vial, and it seemed to mean something to Tonks, who grinned widely and clapped.

He raised an eyebrow, waving his wand and casting a cleaning spell to get rid of the shards of crystal. Still grinning, she said "That's great! You're a full metamorphmagus like me! If it was green, it means you aren't a metamorphmagus, and if it was blue, then the strength of your abilities would depend on how dark the smoke was. This is incredible!"

Harry smiled at her exuberance, realizing the benefits of this skill. He was simply hoping that the ability would allow him to be free from the stigma of the damned scar on his forehead. He also had plans for certain lives to be ended, and this would be a bonus, as he could implicate certain Death Eaters. He had no clue just how powerful this gift was.

Tonks continued, in a more serious vein. "Harry, you will have to swear a magical oath before I can tell you some of the secrets that the Metamorphmagi have kept over the last eight millennia. It is crucial that you do it, because no one but us full Metamorphmagi know just how powerful this gift can be. Each full Metamorphmagus has taken this oath before whether they have learnt from our guide or from another Metamorph."

He scrutinized her face for a few seconds, eyes roving over her beautiful features. He suppressed the desire to use Legilimency, and nodded, knowing that she would not ask something this serious from him without a good reason. He blanched at that last train of thought, wondering what was making him so trusting towards her. It went against all that Salazar had taught him to blindly trust someone like this. But still, he felt that he could trust Tonks with certain things, but couldn't for the life of him imagine what that reason was.

He found his answer by looking into her eyes, searching the depths of her eyes for an answer. She was simply so…_angelic_ that he couldn't help but trust her completely. He berated himself for thinking with the wrong head, but decided to give in. He had her oath, which was given on pure faith, and it was only right for him to be honorable enough to do the same. Sighing inwardly, he reflected that honor sometimes was a pain, and said "What do I have to swear?"

Beautiful or not, nothing would stop him from killing her if she were to betray his secrets. He had invested countless hours of sweat, blood and sacrifice to ensure his current position, and to be thwarted mere days before his plans could reach fruition would certainly be motivation enough to extract his vengeance quite creatively. She was trustworthy, and her oath would allow her to maintain the trust he had placed in her, but she _could_ voluntarily divulge information that would destroy his well-laid plans.

Thinking carefully, she replied "Swear your oath that you will never, in any shape or form, reveal the secrets of the Metamorphmagi to anyone but another full Metamorphmagus. The oath must be sworn on pain of torture and death."

He raised an eyebrow, knowing that a penalty as harsh as torture would certainly not be included unless it was richly deserved. Nodding again, almost as if he was convincing himself, he said "I, Harry James Potter, swear by my magic on pain of torture and death to never reveal the secrets of the Metamorphmagi, in any shape or form, to anyone but a full Metamorphmagus."

Unlike with Tonks' oath, the tendril of magic connected not with another person, but with Magic itself, forming an unbreakable link. As with all Magical Oaths, it could not be betrayed unintentionally, even through methods like Veritaserum or Legilimency. Magic itself prevented the Oath from being betrayed. If the information was voluntarily betrayed, then the betrayer would suffer the consequences of whatever the terms of the Oath were, in this case torture and death.

Tonks nodded decisively as she felt the tingle of magic in the air. She turned to Harry, grinning slightly, and said "Watch."

She seemed to breathe in deeply, steeling herself for something. Then, she lifted her wand, pointed it at the base of her left hand little finger, and muttered _"Diffindo!"_

Harry started in alarm, noting in horror how a pink mist billowed out of her finger as it flew through the air and landed on the floor next to his bare foot. He swore loudly, and gathered up a sobbing Tonks in his arms, hugging her tightly, running a soothing hand up and down her back.

It took a few minutes, but eventually she calmed down, relaxing her hold on him. Absently, as she pulled away from him, she noted the feeling of comfort and security in his arms, and the incredible warmth in his eyes as he looked at her now. With her unhurt hand, she brushed away the tears, and looked up to meet his eyes.

She nearly started in shock, for a tear had slipped out of his eyes at seeing her in pain. Through the pain, she smiled weakly at him, and said "Don't worry, Harry. I did it on purpose. Just watch."

Her face scrunched up in concentration as she stared at her left hand, specifically staring at the stump that was once her little finger. Harry's amazement grew as he saw the stump suddenly mutate, turning into a silvery fluid that took the shape of a finger. It suddenly solidified, forming a perfect finger, with a nail and fingerprints. Jaw hanging, he looked up into her eyes as she smiled at him, all traces of pain gone.

"H-How?" he stuttered, quite uncharacteristically. "But…the pain, the blood…it was real, right?"

She nodded, and pointed at the ground. Where her severed finger and more than a few drops of blood had once lain, was absolutely nothing. It looked like the whole thing had never happened.

"Full Metamorphmagi are aptly named, Harry. Our connection to our bodies is so intense, that each particle that we are composed of is intimately tied into our magic. If we lose a limb, with enough concentration and skill, it can be re-grown. However, as you can see, it doesn't make any difference to the amount of pain you feel. We also have a…core of magic that we use. When we alter the size, in terms of general mass of our bodies, we use this core of magic to create particles to join into our bodies to create that extra mass. So, you see, you can use your core to increase your height and weight, or decrease it. When you decrease your mass the particles that you aren't using retreat to that core of magic for later use. The only other benefit I can think of is that after learning how to morph, you will have a better understanding of Transfiguration as a whole, seeing as you will be intimately acquainted with how to change the shape and size of things."

He was staring at her in shock, and in an uncharacteristically emotional movement, grabbed her into a tight hug again, pulling her flush against his body. He buried his head into her neck and whispered "Don't _ever_ scare me like that again, Tonks. Jesus, I thought…I don't know _what_ I thought!"

She closed her eyes, letting out a sigh and melting into his arms. Her arms reached around his waist to hug him back, and she reveled in the sensation of his body pressed against hers tightly. Unbidden, the thought of his sweat-slicked body rubbing against hers as he thrust into her came into her mind, and she jumped, letting out a startled yell. Blinking, she ignored his curious gaze and walked back into his arms. The thought seemed so…_real_ that it was almost scary, though not unwelcome at all.

He finally let her go, and she smiled at him happily. This time, he was unsuccessful in fighting off his blush, and some color graced his cheeks.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll try not to scare you. Anyways, if you remember, I had to go to Saint Mungo's after the fight. The wound I had was a bit large, and I wasn't able to concentrate enough to heal it fully, so I had to get some potions. Okay, now I'll be the one to train you, since I'm the only full Metamorphmagus in Britain, and the only one who can be trusted to live with you." He nodded, and she continued.

"Okay, now I'll have to work you extra hard for the next month, or you'll never master the skills by the time you start your campaign for allies. I'm gonna go tell Dumbledore, and arrange for paid leave from the Aurors for the next month. I'll be back here in an hour or so, so wait up for me. I still have to explain a few things."

She said it without malice or derogation, which certainly pleased him. He decided to voice this thought to her.

"Tonks, not that I don't appreciate it, but why exactly do you believe me this easily? I mean if I heard from a sixteen year old kid that he was creating his own side against Voldemort, I wouldn't give him or her even the slightest bit of credence."

She leaned up as she hugged him, and kissed his cheek, drawing away with a cute grin. "Well," she said, "you're eighteen…"

With that she apparated away; leaving him with a slight smile on his face. He changed into a pair of boxer shorts, and to take precaution in case Dumbledore decided to arbitrarily apparate in, he grudgingly put the armband on again, throwing a t-shirt on top of that. He sat back in the chair and spent the next hour staring out of the window at the setting sun, which gently dipped beyond the horizon as the Grandfather clock downstairs struck 9. He yawned, the result of a long day, and waited for her to show up.

Finally, a few minutes past an hour since she left, Tonks apparated back into the room, holding a trunk. She was met with the image of Harry pointing his wand at her, a spell on the tip of his tongue. Seeing her, he relaxed, and put his wand back on the table.

"Did you give a real reason to the Ministry as to why you had to take a sabbatical? I mean, did you tell them that you were training me?"

"No Harry…I just took leave. We are allowed to take paid leave for personal reasons only twice in our careers. As for Dumbledore, I told him that you're a partial Metamorphmagus, so I said I would train you."

He smiled at her, relaxing fully. She continued, saying "However, Dumbledore seemed to have a big problem with me being here. He kept insisting that you needed to be alone to grieve. Eventually, I told him that I am magically bound to train Metamorphmagi, and that I would lose my magic, and therefore my usefulness to the Order and Aurors. He gave in, but just barely. Now he wants me to be your guard for the rest of the summer, so that he can use the others for missions. I'm the only one around after tonight."

Harry nodded tiredly, muttering "Of course he would say that. He doesn't want any interaction between me and any magical person…it makes his case as the glorious rescuer more valid and effective come September 1st."

She looked at him inquisitively, but he sighed and said "Later, Tonks. I'll tell you about it all tomorrow. Right now, I just want to go to bed."

She looked at him oddly, saying "It's only 9, Harry. What made you so tired?"

Yawning, he grinned "About five hours of training this morning in the Chamber."

She grinned and hauled him to his feet, saying "Ah. That would do it. Alright, get in bed. Actually, wait a second."

She waved her wand at the bed, making it expand so that it was twice its size. A few quick charms and spells later, the bed was no longer a moldy, run-down piece of trash, it looked comfortable and inviting.

Sighing in appreciation, he fell down onto the bed, still clad only in his boxers and t-shirt. A groan escaped his lips as he felt his sore muscles shift around, and she looked at him with concern in her eyes.

"Are you okay, Harry?" she asked.

"Uh…yeah. I'm just sore all over from training, and that bloody seat in the Train definitely didn't help my case any. I'll be fine."

She paused in her renovation of the room, having gotten as far as painting the walls a different color. "D'you…d'you want a massage? I'm pretty good at giving them." She trailed off, sounding unsure.

He looked at her gratefully, and replied "Tonks, that sounds incredible."

She blushed prettily, and said "Okay, give me a minute."

He watched lazily as she aimed her wand at one of Dudley's old toys, and concentrated hard. A few seconds later, she muttered _"Transmutatio."_ The wooden horse slowly shifted shape into an identical copy of Harry's bed, laying about five feet away from his. A few waves of her wand later, a plush carpet covered a large part of the floor, and another toy was transfigured into a short table between the two beds.

He looked at her, impressed, and said "Nice detail." She grinned at him and replied "Yeah, I told you your skills at Transfiguration will get better."

He blinked, choosing not to respond. For him, transfiguring like that was already possible, with slightly more effort.

Instead, he said "Can you add anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards and add only the two of us to them? I don't want Dumbledore popping in and seeing me like this; it would lead to uncomfortable questions that I wouldn't want to answer. Then, he'd start meddling even more."

She nodded, giving him a gaze that conveyed that she would ask him about it the next day. She chanted the two wards, and Harry felt them going up with approval. They were strong, and now that he was keyed into them, he could avoid Dumbledore entering the room at any time. He would charm the door the next day to allow only Tonks and him in, so at least he would have a warning if Dumbledore tried to enter.

She climbed onto his bed, straddling his back and sitting on his rear. A groan escaped his mouth as a few cricks popped into place, and she said "Alright. _Off_ with your shirt!" She said it in the same manner that excited crowds used to jeer _'**Off** with his head!'_ He grinned in response and complied.

She had to stifle a gasp as she saw the muscles on his back ripple as he took the shirt off. Her seat, his ass, was quite comfortable, and she would have to take care to make sure that she didn't get too excited while massaging him, for it would be extremely evident through their clothes.

Her soft hands began rubbing his back, easing the tension in his back with gentle yet powerful movements. His groans of appreciation as the stress was worked out of his back were audible, and she giggled lightly as he did so.

For about twenty minutes, she pressed against his back, easing the strain in his muscles with gentle strokes of her hands. The feeling of his muscles rippling under her fingers was incredible, and she was working overtime to stop her arousal from becoming obvious. She needn't have worried, though, as within minutes, he had fallen asleep under the effects of her gentle ministrations, breathing easily and sleeping peacefully.

She finished, sighing gently. She moved off him, and sat next to him for a while, stroking his silky hair which hung loose, draping down to barely reach an inch below his neck. The look of utter tranquility in his face was strangely soothing, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before getting into her own bed. She spent the next half hour writing in a blue Diary that had a velvet cover, and felt much more at peace after pouring her emotions into her writing. It had been quite a long day for her. Despite feeling rather awake at the moment, she turned off the lights and slipped into an easy sleep within a few minutes, the rhythmic sounds of his breath lulling her to sleep quickly.

**

* * *

Harry was sleeping peacefully, enjoying the utter lack of thought that his Occlumency shields afforded him. Absently, he noted the odd sound of rushed breathing, and a few whimpers and moans. After a few minutes, he woke up, looking around blearily. Tonks, he saw, was lying in bed, obviously the victim of a nightmare.**

Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she tossed and turned in bed, whimpers and groans escaping her lips ever now and then. Concerned, he got out of bed and sat next to her, taking her hands in his. Immediately, she quieted, a mask of peace settling across her face. He smiled at the angelic expression on her face, and gently stroked her cheek with his fingers.

He sighed, looking at her and wondering just why she meant so much to him. He had had a small crush on her last year, since he first met her, and they had exchanged a sparse few letters over the course of the school year. However, this did not explain what he was feeling for her. He knew he could trust her with his secrets, for she had trusted him with hers, obligation or not. She, unlike most others, was supportive of him rather than mocking, and seemed to believe in him. What he appreciated most about her was that she reserved her opinion, neither repudiating him not blindly pledging her trust to him. She had not thrown herself at him, agreeing to aid him or follow him without learning what his agenda was. It was a deep friendship, but a lot more than that, and even though he tried to compare it to what he felt for Cho, he found no answers.

Seeing that she had gone back to sleep, he gently extricated his hands from hers, and got up to return to his own bed. He was startled when her whimpers began again, becoming more forceful and emotional, by the look of utter fear on her face.

Quickly, her took her hands in his again, and gently woke her up. She awoke with a start, eyes wildly roaming the room for the bogeyman. She saw him, and looked at him curiously in the dim light of the streetlamps that filtered in through the shuttered windows.

Rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, he murmured "You were having a nightmare. I held your hand and it seemed to stop, but when I got up to return to my bed, it started again."

Unconsciously, her fingers rose to her face, and found the slight beads of sweat and the tears that had rolled down her face. She blushed slightly, and he gently said "Don't be embarrassed. I get them all the time."

She nodded slightly, and thanked him demurely, eyes downcast. He could tell that she had resigned herself to staying awake for the rest of the night, and the light of his wristwatch told him that it was just past 2 AM.

Concernedly, he held her hand and said "Tonks, I don't mean to insinuate anything, so please don't be offended. If you need company while you sleep, just tell me, and I'll be there for you. If hanging on to someone helps you sleep better, then don't be shy about it. It's the least I could do after you gave me that massage. I mean it, Tonks, it will be completely platonic."

She looked at him, noting the concern in his eyes, and blushed slightly, a tinge of red appearing on her cheeks.

Her lower lip trembling slightly, she whispered "You would do that for me? What if I wake you up?"

He laughed lightly and said "Don't worry about it. If it makes you feel safe, I'll be happy to help. Do you agree?"

She nodded jerkily, sniffing slightly. He pulled her in for a hug, and gently laid her down on the bed. A wave of his hand erected a locking charm on the door, and he slipped into the bed next to her. She was lying stiffly next to him, and he mock-scowled at her.

"Don't be silly, that won't help you at all. Now, come here." He admonished her in a Molly Weasley voice, breaking the ice between them. She finally relaxed, and he pulled her close, spooning her against him tightly. Emboldened, she reached around and pulled his arm around her waist, holding it in place with her own. She melted into his embrace, feeling his powerful muscles against her back, entirely forgetting about the fact that her rear was pressed up against his crotch. He drew the covers over them, and closed his eyes.

Holding her tightly, Harry slipped back into sleep a few minutes after she did, and they slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

**

* * *

The morning dawned bright and early, but they slept in until 10 AM. The Dursleys knew better than to irritate Harry this summer, believing that the wrath of the Order in all its glory would be invited down on them. Of course, Harry knew that apart from Tonks and perhaps Lupin, none of them would lift a finger, once again displaying the general impotency of the Order as an armed Militia.**

Harry woke up feeling rested, eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. He was lying on his back, with Tonks' head resting on his chest, her leg thrown over his body possessively. He grinned slightly, until he blanched at a new discovery. Apparently, at some point in the night, they had rolled over, and Tonks' hand had slipped through the window on the front of his boxers, and was now possessively wrapped around his penis. As she breathed in and out, her hand moved ever so slightly, causing her fingertips to brush against his balls.

Delicately, he freed his left hand from the covers, and oh-so-gently tried to extricate her fingers from around him. The sensation of her soft hand gripping him was beginning to cause side effects, and he tried not to be too hasty in removing her hand, trying to avoid waking her. He knew that it would be uncomfortable for them, and tried to get out of this situation. Unfortunately, she woke up as he was prying her fingers off from him.

Bleary eyes turned up to look at him, and he smiled weakly at her, still trying to avoid the potential embarrassment while she was disoriented. She felt his fingers touching hers, and inquisitively looked down. She let out a gasp of horror, and pulled her hand away quickly.

Turning to him, she began stammering an apology, and when she failed to get it out properly, she began crying. He began feeling terrible, as it was him who had suggested this idea. He gently shushed her, and pulled her into a hug, whispering "Shush…its okay, Tonks. Don't worry about it; it could have happened to anyone."

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say as she sobbed harder into his chest. He held her tightly, and whispered "Come on. It's fine." She was thrashing around in his arms, trying to move away from him, but he steadfastly held her, trying to soothe her frayed nerves by stroking her back.

Eventually she relaxed, and looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, whispering "H-Harry, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." Tears were still running down her face freely, and Harry absently thought that she looked beautiful with the sun in the window creating a halo-like effect around her head.

Laughing lightly, he kissed her forehead and replied "Its fine, Tonks. Listen, there was no harm done, so you don't have to worry about a thing, okay?"

She sniffed, staring at him for a while. Then, she asked "You're sure?"

He smiled at her and replied "Of course." The tension was broken, and she melted back into his arms, laying her head back against his chest.

Grinning slightly, he muttered in a huffy, bossy tone normally adopted by Hermione "Well, honestly! One would think that you would wait at least until the first date to grab his crotch, Nymphadora!"

She giggled slightly, and smacked him on the chest, muttering "Yeah, yeah, Potter. Milk it for all it's worth. I'll get you back when you accidentally grope _me_."

He laughed, saying "Oh, but it would be worth it, darling Nymphadora."

She blushed, smacking him again and muttering "Oi! That name is a low blow! I'll take pictures the next time you decide to drop your towel around me." He grinned down at her again, and hugged her to him tightly, tickling her sides until she was gasping for breath.

Eventually, she settled back on his chest, seemingly having no intention to move. Absently, she said "You're gonna make some girl real happy some day, Harry. Whoever gets you will be a lucky girl."

She blushed suddenly as she realized what she had said, but she was saved from saying anything. He blushed as well, and muttered "Thanks."

They laid there for a long time, until it was nearly 11 AM. Finally, he dragged her out of bed, and transfigured a bathrobe for her. She slipped off to the shower, and once she was done, he showered as well. Despite his reservations about possible diseases from Vernon's razor, he made an attempt at using a non-magical method of shaving out of simple curiosity, and nearly cut himself twice, successfully cutting himself once. Grimacing, he used another cleaning and sterilizing charm on the razor and headed back to the room wearing a bathrobe. He couldn't cast healing spells wandlessly, so he needed to retrieve his wand from the bedside table.

As he healed himself, he failed to notice her eyes roving his frame with a gaze that had a mixture of appreciation, guilt and sadness. He finally got dressed, having to perform a curious dance to get his boxers on while still wearing the bathrobe. She laughed at him, and he mock-scowled at her, causing her to laugh even more.

"It isn't anything I haven't seen before, Harry. Since last night you so graciously decided to provide the striptease, I feel I'm more than well acquainted with your uh…_features_." He scowled at her good-naturedly, and eased into the jeans and t-shirt that he had transfigured out of old clothes. That was one situation that he would have to remedy as quickly as possible, for he not only needed to act the part, but needed to look it when he made his entrance into the political side of the Wizarding World.

Scrunching up his eyes, he shook his head vigorously, causing the water from his hair to sprinkle all over the place, making Tonks yelp and laugh.

It took another twenty minutes of fooling around, but they finally got down to work, deciding to wait until later for lunch.

They sat down on the bed side-to-side in a relaxed posture, and Tonks took his hands in hers.

"Okay, the only thing we're gonna attempt today is to change the size of the fingernail on your index finger. Yes, I know it seems small, but you can run the risk of leaking your magic out, and it's usually very hard to slow that down, which means that you might just leak out a whole bunch of magic in one go and get exhausted. Then we'd have to wait until tomorrow to start again.

"Right, now I want you to use Occlumency to find your magical core first, okay? Then, you have to pull back from it, and mentally insist that there is a second core of magic for you to use. If you hunt around enough, you'll find it. It should look colorful, in case you're wondering. Then, what you have to do is imagine a hand pulling a bit of the magic and smearing it on your fingernail. Once you've done that, _will_ for the magic to force the nail to change shape and become longer. Do you understand?"

He nodded, appreciating the patience with which she was working him, not being too demanding.

She said "Alright…now take your time, and don't rush it, okay? You have to learn to find a good handle and connection with your magic, and learn how to manipulate it the right way. Just take it easy and relax, it doesn't require you to overexert yourself, just to pay attention to what you're doing. Now, the magic will be slippery at first, and after a long time of using it, it will become easy to hold. That's why it sometimes slips out of your grasp and leaks from your core. If that happens, you have to stop everything else and focus on gently pushing your magic back to the core. Once you practice it enough, you won't have to go through the rigmarole of smearing it on the part that you want to morph. You'll just be able to direct your magic there and feed it with intent to make the morph happen. Alright, give it a try."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He cleared his mind of all thought, and entered the pitch-black region that was his mind. He found the shimmering silver shields that were partway finished, and noticed the jumble of everyday memories inside. Pulling away front his view, he plunged downwards to find his magical core. After about five minutes of veering through the magical channels in his body, he finally found it, a pulsating mass of bright white light. With no small amount of distaste, he noted the eight rings of ugly black that encircled his core, creating a helix of sorts over the bright light of his core.

Gently, he pulled back from it ever so slightly, and insisted that there was a second core for him to use. He had to hunt around in the darkness for a while, but he found it, a large ball of golden light that flickered in certain areas to different colors. Tentatively, he reached a hand forwards and stroked the magic, appreciatively eyeing the silvery shimmer that floated over the gold. It was warm and soothing to the touch, and he scooped some of it out, noting its impossible slipperiness. Struggling to hold on to it with his hands clasped together, he imagined the magic trapped in his hands being smeared over his fingernail. He felt the warmth dissipate from his grip, and focused himself, concentrating hard on elongating his fingernail.

He came out of his trance, grinning slightly. Tonks was sitting next to him trying to stifle laughter. "Oh, well done, Harry! It took me until the second try to do it. I think you might have been just a _little_ enthusiastic about how much magic you used."

Harry was blankly staring at his right hand, where the nail on his index finger was about eighteen inches long. "Yeah…I think you're right, Tonks."

She laughed, and said "Okay, I'll fix it, but this will sting a bit. This spell is used to revert a Metamorphmagus to their true appearance, and it causes pain proportional to the size of the morphs you've made."

He nodded, and she pointed her wand at him and muttered _"Metamorphmagus Reverti."_ He felt a slight sting of pain as his fingernail reduced in size, but it was nothing serious.

She nodded, and said "Good, now that's taken care of. Now, before we try again, I wanted to ask whether you already had some experience using core magic for intent-driven results. I'm asking because you found your core really quick…it took me about fifteen minutes to find mine when I started. Of course, after using it a lot, it moves up into the immediate vicinity of your mind shields, so you really don't have to spend more than twenty seconds to change almost everything in your body."

She looked at him, and this time, he blushed bright red, muttering "Yeah."

Grinning, she wondered what made him blush. "Please, do explain, Harry."

He scowled at her, and muttered "No, I'd rather not." Now, she stopped laughing and took his hand in hers, squeezing it.

"Its fine, Harry. Don't worry about it. I'm sorry for asking."

"No…its just- ah, bugger it." He pouted at her, and continued "Well, I don't know if anyone's done it before, but it has its uses in uh…intimate situations."

She raised an eyebrow and said "How so? I've only heard of it being used to magically power your voice, to extend your aura or to seem more dangerous or something."

He grimaced. "Well, I could show you, but you would get embarrassed by what happens, and you might hate me. So, I'll just tell you what it is. Okay, you siphon off a bit of magic, focus it on your fingers or lips or whatever, and focus real hard on the act of causing pleasure. Your fingers, or whatever part that you choose should glow a pale gold. Then, all you have to do is touch the person you want to do it to, and voila…instant orgasm."

She nodded, amazed. "How…intense is it?"

He buried his face in his hands, and muttered "Truthfully? I could make someone scream their head off. It would be the most mind blowing orgasm you ever feel since every little part of you that can possibly feel pleasure will explode all at the same time. Magic isn't really all that specific about what it does, unless you specifically focus on causing it in a particular area."

She gulped slightly, feeling her nipples stiffen at the sound of his voice rolling into her ears. It wasn't really talking dirty, but it was arousing all the same.

Shakily, she said "Right. Okay. Try the bit with the nail again, and try to make it grow only slightly. I'm making you start small not only because he magic can leak, but because as you practice and perfect smaller things, you get better at doing it and using the magic. Having to use the reverting spell on you while you've changed every aspect of your body will be excruciatingly painful. Okay, now go ahead."

He went through the process again, and found that this time he wouldn't have to search for the second core it was readily accessible to him, floating near his personal core. Unfortunately, the magic slipped from his fingers as he tried to siphon some away, and he felt a large amount of magic swirl away from him. Realizing what was happening, he panicked at first, but remembering her advice, calmed down. Focusing hard, he gently pressed the magic back into the core, easing it so as to avoid any more problems.

He tried it again, noticing that the core looked severely depleted, and on this try managed to do it correctly, increasing the length of his fingernail by an inch. He opened his eyes to see Tonks grinning at him, and he had to fight down the urge to gulp. She looked positively radiant as she smiled at him, and he smiled back weakly in response.

"Harry, the magic that escaped formed the most beautiful aura I've ever seen before! It was incredible!" She was grinning wildly, and she hugged him tightly. "Good job!" she congratulated him, kissing his cheek.

"Thanks," he said, regaining control over his emotions. He cast the spell on himself, and felt a much smaller twinge of pain as his fingernail receded to normal length.

"Okay," she said, "it's about time that we got some lunch. I'm starving. Since I'm the only one around here, and I don't care much for rules, I'll take you out. Let's head over to Wisteria Walk, there's a nifty little diner there, and they have some incredible coffee. I used to eat there last summer after my shifts."

He nodded, and transfigured his worn out shoes into nicer ones made of leather. Checking his work to make sure there were no imperfections, he donned them and got off the bed. He slipped the band onto his arm and activated the runes so that they showed him to be slim, but not skinny. His height matched Tonks' 5'9, and he had a little bit of meat on his bones, making him look healthy but slightly underweight. They headed downstairs, ignoring Vernon's purple face as he saw Tonks walking down with Harry. They had locked and charmed the door to admit only the two of them, so he wouldn't be able to open it and find out what was going on in the room.

They ambled down Privet Drive, chatting nonchalantly when Tonks said something that shook him hard.

As they crossed the street towards Wisteria Walk, Tonks said "Can you tell me why you have problems with Dumbledore? I've got my own problems with him, so you aren't alone on that count."

He nodded, and replied "Well, Tonks, it's like this…"

* * *

_A/N: _Right...this is the only chapter that has fluff in it. I doubt it will happen again, so apologies to any of you who were looking for more Independant!Harry in this Chapter. 

Next chapter: The history of Dumbledore, as much as can be inferred from the books if one assumes that he's Manipulative!Dumbles. I'll need a week to finish it and get it beta'ed by Zero.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Explanations**

"Alright. What do you know about Dumbledore?" Harry asked in a noncommittal tone.

Blinking at the unexpected question, she answered "Well, he's 122 years old, and went to Hogwarts. I'm not sure what House he was in, but it was probably Gryffindor. Uh…after school he apprenticed with Nicholas Flamel for five years, and then worked with him for the next twenty years, and invented the twelve uses of Dragon's blood. Then he returned to Hogwarts to teach Transfiguration in about 1920, and worked that job for the next twenty something years until he became Headmaster in 1948. Right before that, in 1942, he defeated Grindelwald, and got the Order of Merlin and got an honorary membership in the Dark Force Defense League. About five years after that, he became the Mugwump of the Wizengamot, and a few years later became the Supreme Mugwump. Uh…then You-Know-Who popped up about twenty years after he became Headmaster, and he's been fighting him since then. He created the Order in 1973…I think your parents were in their fifth year or so then. Then 1981 happened, and things calmed down for a while."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay, you have all the facts right, but I'll have to explain my problems with him. In 1927, a young muggle-raised half-blood started at Hogwarts. His name was Tom Riddle. He lived in an orphanage most of his life, and they treated him pretty bad over there. Naturally, as he found out that he could do something supernatural like magic, he wished to pay them back for the pain that they caused him. So he studied hard, and was an exceptional student. Now, at the end of each year, he would beg and plead with the teachers and Headmaster to stay at school over the summer. He hated returning to the orphanage, where they would beat him and torture him each summer.

"But each time, he was refused. Each time, the teachers flat out told him that he could not stay there for the summer, believing that whatever happened over the summer was none of their business. Now, think about this hard. In the summer, there are a grand total of ten people staying in the castle. Barely any of the facilities are used, and the dormitories remain empty. Now, there are a minimum of two hundred House Elves at Hogwarts at any time, and it is in their nature to care for people. Was it really such a stretch of imagination to think that they would refuse to take care of _one_ kid for a period of two months? He would need no supervision, he could simply be allowed to visit the library, walk down to Hogsmeade or fly on one of the school brooms.

"Each time he was refused, Albus Dumbledore would sympathize with him. He would put on his grandfatherly face of utmost regret, and say how sad he was that Headmaster Dippet did not allow the boy to stay. And each time he would whisper these little nothings into Tom's ears, the boy grew more and more angry. He found out in his Fifth year that he was the direct heir to Salazar Slytherin. He found the Chamber of Secrets, and found that there was a beast of terrible power in there, a Basilisk. Perverting his Forefather's ideals, Tom used the Basilisk to try and purge the school of those that he thought unfit for the benefits of magic: Muggleborns. Eventually, one girl was killed in the school. You know her as Moaning Myrtle, the ghost who hangs around in the U-bend in the girls toilets on the second floor. Now, Dumbledore became suspicious, and Tom didn't want to get caught. He sealed the Chamber again, and through sheer luck found out that a student at Hogwarts had a dangerous pet. He blamed the attack on Rubeus Hagrid's pet, a young Acromantula, and Hagrid's wand was snapped then he was expelled and thrown into Azkaban for a while. Luckily for him, there wasn't enough evidence, so he was released, but still not allowed to attend Hogwarts.

"When he finally graduated, receiving top honors, Tom left the school, and became an apprentice to Grindelwald. For the next five years, he learnt the blackest of arts, and his first murder apart from Myrtle was that of Headmaster Armando Dippet, the man he believed to have caused his torment during each summer before school. That was the only killing that he ever felt guilty about. As Dippet was dying, he told Tom that he had kept trying to arrange for him to live at Dippet Mansion in the summers, but Albus Dumbledore, who was more respected due to his spectacular work on Alchemy, had repeatedly dissuaded him. As he was dying, he said that Dumbledore had said that Tom needed to build 'good moral fiber' and that he needed to learn to ignore the muggles and forgive them. Then, he finally died, and Tom nearly snapped. He descended into the darkness like no-one had in centuries, and went through a horrendous amount of rituals. He received his wish to become magically more powerful than Dumbledore, but underwent several mutations because of the Dark Magic and the rituals. In 1967, Tom Riddle returned to the mainstream of the Wizarding World as Lord Voldemort."

Tonks' expression had grown steadily paler as Harry told his story, realizing where this was going. Yet, as he spoke the last two words, she found herself gasping out of surprise rather than fear. She was beginning to understand what Harry felt towards Dumbledore.

"Harry, how do you know about this stuff? How do you know his life so intimately, and know that Voldemort felt guilty about killing Dippet?" Tonks asked in a voice that sounded far from accusing.

He smiled sadly, and replied "I'm not the only one who has nightmares. He does too, terrible ones, and sometimes I used to see them. The rest I found out from…listen, you _cannot_ tell anyone about this next bit, okay?"

She nodded, and he continued "I heard it from the portrait of Salazar Slytherin which lies in the Chamber of Secrets. He is my Master, and I am his Apprentice. He imbued the portrait with some of his lifeblood, so he would be magically capable of apprenticing any of his descendants that ventured into the Chamber. In the last four hundred years, I am the only one he trained, as he felt that Tom was perverting his ideals and would use his teachings for disgusting purposes."

Tonks was staring at him in shock, not knowing what to say. She was sitting in front of the most famous wizard in the world, and had just heard him admit to being the apprentice of a reputed Dark Wizard of incredible power, not to mention one that was dead for a whole millennium. She blinked, shaking her head amusedly.

"Only you, Harry, could do something like that. Only you." He tossed her a grin and opened the door to the diner for her, hearing the bells attached to the door jingle. She smiled at him appreciatively as he held the door for her as she walked by. "It's great that you put in such effort, Harry, but why exactly would you work this hard? I mean, when you're twelve years old you don't really feel like studying _more_ than you already have to."

He smiled tightly at her in reply, and softly said "If you were in my place, Tonks, a child living in a cupboard for years, would you not take any advantage you could get to learn something as wondrous as magic?"

She looked at him sadly and squeezed his hand comfortingly.

"The end of second year was not the first time that I did more than just class work. After Dumbledore returned my father's invisibility cloak to me, I made full use of it to raid the library and explore Hogwarts at night. I've never been a deep sleeper, so I just did it originally to while away the time. Then, when we missed the sorting in second year, McGonagall conjured a plate of sandwiches and juice for us with a simple wave of her wand. After spending a summer being fed through a cat-flap, Tonks, being able to do something that impressive and useful was quite an attractive prospect. I still felt as if I was living a fantasy, and I was determined to make the best of it, and be the best wizard possible."

He blinked, his moodiness disappearing, and grinned comfortingly as they grabbed a table slightly far from where most of the business was. Just as a precaution, Tonks placed a silencing charm around the table so that they could talk, and it showed a second later as the waitress was a bit confused at the sudden lack of sound from the crowd behind them. They ordered healthy food, quite content to eat it rather than some gunk made for bovines.

As they waited, Tonks motioned for him to continue, and he did, interspersing his speech by chewing on a few saltine crackers.

"Now, in 1967, when Tom Riddle began killing again, he was magically more powerful than Dumbledore, but in realistic terms, was nowhere near a match for him. Dumbledore was the superior duelist, and could have, with time, defeated Riddle. Now, as Tom turned into a Dark Lord and began gathering support, Dumbledore dueled him many times. Each time, when he could have won, he foolishly let Tom escape. This, I don't understand…if he could have killed Tom then, why didn't he do it? More than eight thousand deaths, wizards and muggles, could have been prevented if Dumbledore had just said two words and ended it all. If he had spread the word about Tom being a half-blood, then the pureblood faction would not have responded to his calls regardless of the fact that he was the Heir of Slytherin. My opinion is that Dumbledore was waiting for Voldemort to become a much bigger threat to the Wizarding World to take action. Already, he had waited eleven years until Grindelwald was a huge threat to defeat him, and I think he wanted Tom to be so large a threat that the Wizarding world would see him as their ultimate savior. But he waited too long.

"In 1980, a prophecy was made due to his inaction. He was the only one who could have defeated him at that point, but he didn't, and he cursed this world to so much pain and death. The prophecy stated that only one person would have a chance at defeating Voldemort, and that person was not Dumbledore. Because he had done nothing, magic itself decided to make sure that it would happen. Now, Dumbledore had no chance of being the savior, so immediately, he began to maneuver himself into the position where he would be able to control this savior, and mould him to the point where he could take credit for the win at the end."

Here, Tonks looked at him sadly, tightly grasping his hand in hers. "It's you, isn't it? You're the savior." He nodded, a haunted look in his eyes that made her let out a tear. He smiled weakly and flicked the tear away with a finger, squeezing back on her hand.

"Now, the oath that you took yesterday simply said that you would not divulge anything I said, it gave no time limit. You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

She nodded, a slight smile on her face. He gave her a smile, and continued. "The prophecy basically states that the person who can defeat Voldemort would be born at the end of July, and that could have meant either Neville Longbottom or me. The next part said that Voldemort would mark the one that would ultimately be the prophecy child, and he did that in 1981, when he cursed me, leaving the scar. The last bit states that if and when we fight to the death, only one of us can walk away, although I am supposed to have a special power that Voldemort doesn't know of."

Tonks looked at him sadly. "You will win, Harry. I'm sure you will." He nodded, not knowing how to reply.

"Okay, you know that my family went into hiding under the Fidelius Charm in 1980. What I think is that Dumbledore arranged things so that my family would be attacked. What makes me think this is the fact that the Longbottoms did not go into hiding, and there are other things that I'll tell you as well. Why didn't they hide? Because Dumbledore didn't tell them about the prophecy. Neville was born the day before me, so he correctly assumed that I would be the target. He was basically taking a gamble on the lives of an innocent family just so that he could control what would happen. Now, he knew that Sirius was my Dad's best friend, and that he would be too obvious a choice for the Secret Keeper. Remus was not the best choice either, as he had sown the seeds of doubt in their minds, something that Sirius told me about last year. The only option left was Pettigrew, because my mom's best friend was dead. He _knew_ that Pettigrew was on the other side, something that would be obvious by looking into his eyes even once during Order meetings. He is a powerful legilimens, and Pettigrew is not an Occlumens. His passive legilimency would have picked up the thoughts of betrayal from the forefront of Pettigrew's mind.

"Pettigrew had already been passing information to the other side for a year, which was why the Order was singularly useless from the summer of 1980 until Voldemort died. Dumbledore would have taken the first chance to hunt for spies, but he did nothing about it once he found out, especially since he knew that Pettigrew would end up being the Secret Keeper once he convinced my parents to go into hiding. So he did convince them, and by summer 1981, they went into hiding. He never once told them anything about the Fidelius charm, and when they went into hiding, he never gave them the means to research such an arcane spell themselves, since the only real information about it is in the Hogwarts Library and in some extremely old texts. Otherwise, they would have known that the charm does not hide people, but places. I researched it myself, and asked Salazar about it, and do you know what I found out? My mother, being the charms mistress, could have cast the spell, and made my father the secret keeper, thus making them ultimately safe. They would never betray their own family, Dumbledore knew, so he needed them to know as little as possible about the charm so that they would choose Wormtail, and he could betray the secret to Voldemort. In fact, my mother could have cast the spell and held the secret herself; that is what Dumbledore did with Grimmauld Place. He is the only one powerful enough to cast the spell, and he is the Secret Keeper of the Order."

Tonks had a tear running down her cheek as she held onto his hand with a death-grip.

"Now, we all know what happened: the secret was betrayed, and Halloween night happened. Now, here's another part that makes me suspicious. I think that Dumbledore somehow attached himself to the wards, especially the Fidelius Charm, because the night that my parents died, he knew about it immediately. What happened was the Voldemort, knowing the secret, blasted open the door and entered, killing my parents. He did not try to disable the charm; it would have expended too much energy to do so since he wasn't the caster. But then, as soon as it happened, Dumbledore knew. He didn't come to collect me himself, instead he was absently ambling down Privet Drive and writing a letter to the Dursleys. He sent _Hagrid_ to collect me from Godric's Hollow. Now, how would Hagrid have known where the house was? The Fidelius should still have been standing, regardless of the fact that the cottage was torn down. Sure, Hagrid might be a nice guy, but I doubt that my parents would trust him with the secret to where they were living. Dumbledore disabled the Fidelius, and told Hagrid where to go. And then, he arbitrarily decided to circumvent the law, sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Sirius, the only other person who was supposed to know where my Parents were, was there as well. He tried to take me, but Hagrid denied him, he told him that Dumbledore said that he was to take me with him. Who gave Dumbledore the right to take me away from my true guardian? If Sirius had had to take care of me at the time, he wouldn't have gone after Wormtail, he wouldn't have been falsely charged with murder and thrown into Azkaban. Instead, in his grief, he did exactly what Dumbledore hoped for, and got himself out of the way, getting thrown into Azkaban without even a bloody trial."

Tonks looked visibly deflated, which was understandable considering that she had just had her ideals smashed. While she wanted to believe that Dumbledore was a good person, what Harry was saying was undeniable in its truth. There was simply no way that everything could have happened so brilliantly that Dumbledore became the only person in control of Harry's life.

"Now, I have to disabuse you of another piece of fiction that he created. The special power that I am supposed to have…he tells me that it is love. He tells me that my ability to love will help me win. What do I think? I think he wants me to falsely believe in this, so that when everyone I care for dies, my emotions will charge my magic and I will explode, taking Voldemort with me. Then, he can come in as the savior of the day, telling of how he figured out how to defeat Voldemort, and that it could only have been done if I died too. He will turn me into a martyr, and pretend that he was the one who guided me into the selfless decision, saying that I initially didn't want to do it, but that he convinced me. He has gone around telling people that the reason that I survived the Killing curse was because my mother created a shield of pure love to counter an unblockable curse. While it helps towards his fabrication of a fairy tale, it holds not a single grain of truth. My mother died while trying to shield me, but she did not succeed in protecting me. I know as well as anyone that there is _no_ shield to the Killing Curse; it was created with the use of hate, and that, by far, is the most powerful emotion there is. No, the reason that the killing curse was reflected was because of the Prophecy.

"The Prophecy states that I would be marked by the Dark Lord. My scar is that mark, as I told you, and so I was marked because the prophecy stated so. Now, if he had taken a knife and cut me on the shoulder or wherever, I would have a mark there that would show that he marked me. It would be similar to my current scar. I would not have died, and since it was physically done, nothing would have reflected back at him. Now, since he was supposed to mark me, and he fired the Killing Curse, magic knew that the first time that he touched me either physically or magically, I could not be allowed to die. So, in order to make sure that the first touch was not fatal, it caused the curse to be reflected, simply leaving a mark. Voldemort was simply in the wrong place, and he got hit by his own curse. There was no love involved. If he had poked me with a knife to make a mark, the connection would have been made. Then, all he would have to do was to fire another killing curse at me, and he would be the winner, and I would have been dead.

"Now, I don't have a clue as to what this special power is. I doubt that it is the fact that I am a Metamorphmagus…the prophecy was made _after_ I was conceived, and I doubt that the prophecy or the killing curse gave me such a power. Being a metamorph doesn't really help me against Voldemort, although as you showed, it certainly has its advantages. The power is something else, and I have to find out what it is quickly."

Tonks nodded, musing "Hmm…I don't really think that love can empower you enough to kill him. Sure, emotion-driven magic is powerful, but it is definitely _not_ a power that he doesn't know about, he uses the killing curse often enough to disprove that. And no matter how evil he is, love is love, it's not something that you can be entirely blind to. I'm sure, even though he is a snake-y bastard; he probably had a crush or two in his school days."

Harry nodded, taking a sip of water before he continued.

"So, my parents died, Sirius went to Azkaban, Wormtail escaped and Lupin nearly went mad. I was packed off to the Dursleys in a basket with a letter written by Dumbledore. Now, as things seem to have happened, after he left me there, against the advice of McGonagall, he returned. He then proceeded to put power blocks on me."

Here, he was interrupted by Tonks, who went white and slammed her fist against the table in anger. "He did _WHAT_?" she snarled, small hints of red in her cheeks. "How dare he do that to you! Tampering with someone's magic is the greatest insult to a wizard that you can have! It's illegal unless done by parents or to criminals! You could challenge him to a duel of honor!"

Harry gently grasped her balled fist, his thumb stroking her tensed fingers soothingly as he whispered "Shh…it's okay Tonks. Relax. The maturation will get rid of them."

Breathing heavily after her outburst, she slowly relaxed, but said in a heated voice "What are you gonna do about this, Harry? It's a positively disgusting thing to do!"

He continued to stroke her hand with his, and said "Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do. Despite how powerful I can become, Voldemort is still better than me, in terms of dueling at least. Until I establish a few years worth of experience, I will not be a match for him. Right now, I doubt that I could last more than ten minutes in a duel with him, and even the prophecy doesn't seem to matter anymore. He fired the killing curse at me in the Ministry. No…I might hate Dumbledore, but I cannot take the risk that it would create if I was to have him arrested. He has to be around to defend Hogwarts, or it will be taken by Voldemort."

She nodded, but still had the slight blush of anger on her cheeks that indicated just how irritated she was with Dumbledore.

"Okay, when I was about four months old, I apparently had a block put on me by my parents. I was probably doing some rather potent accidental magic, so they put the standard block on my magic, the sort that degrades into nothingness by the time I reach eleven years of age. Now, when Dumbledore placed blocks on me, he went and froze the one that my parents put, making sure that it didn't deteriorate with time. He put eight blocks on my core-"

Here, Tonks exploded in anger once again, and Harry had to silence her quickly lest the other patrons notice that she was screaming but that no sound was emerging. Quickly, he slid around the table to sit next to her, and grabbed her into a hug, pushing her face into the crook of his neck. She stopped screaming, but was still talking angrily, reluctantly circling her arms around his waist to hug him back.

When she eventually grew silent again, he whispered "Are you done?" She blushed and nestled further into his neck, squeaking a reply back in embarrassment. He grinned at her when she finally drew away, making her crack a reluctant grin herself.

"Okay, he put eight blocks on me. Now these blocks are of a different variety. They don't limit the amount of magic that I use but rather they circle my core like a helix, and squeeze it into a tiny ball. It compresses my magic, and with the block from my parents not having disappeared, I only have about 15 percent of my magic available to me. So, you see, my maturation will mean that I'll have to work on controlling my magic all over again, lest I exhaust myself. Now, he obviously means to replace the blocks on my core; he is an incredibly knowledgeable wizard, and he knows that my maturity will break the blocks. By doing this, he will have restrained my magic to the point that when I release my emotions during battle by casting the Killing Curse, they will burn away the blocks, and cause me to explode both magically and physically, taking Voldemort with me due to the scar connection. Of course, I won't let that happen, as I've nearly isolated the connection and shielded it away."

She nodded, astonished, and absently noted that she had not moved out of his arms. "But you can cast a patronus…exactly how powerful are you? If your 15 percent allows you to drive away a hundred Dementors, then you must be ridiculously powerful!"

He nodded, replying "I'm exactly as powerful as Voldemort, which is that I am, or rather, I will be once my maturation takes place. I've been learning the theory on how to use a staff from Salazar over the past three years, but I'll have to wait until I get control over my magic again until I can use it for the first time. With what I have now, I can barely use the unlocking charm once through a staff before I become fully exhausted. In any case, I doubt that I will continue to learn how to use one…the Druid tongue is hard to speak, and during a duel, I doubt I will have the time to use such long incantations.

"Right…let's get back to Dumbledore. Now, I lived with my Aunt and Uncle for three months shy of 10 years. Considering that I am Dumbledore's only defense against Voldemort, and that I am the one he will martyr, don't you think that he would have checked on me at least once? I'm pretty sure he did, because he never made a remark about the fact that I lived in a cupboard for ten years. Frankly, I'm too valuable for him to discard like that with nothing more than some old squib lady to watch from afar. So, the only conclusion that I can come to is that he knew, and did nothing about it. He knew that I was being beaten and starved, and he let it go on. Why did he do it? I can't tell, but what seems most likely is that it would make sure that I would see Hogwarts as my true home; and him as my savior. Now, every once in a while when I was dragged around with my aunt to carry her things when she went shopping, I would occasionally run into a Wizard. Now that I met the Order last year, I find it odd that the only wizards I met just so happened to be Order members. I met Daedalus Diggle once, Sturgis Podmore once and Algernon Steeple once. That leads me to believe that he had me watched through my whole childhood, and that he did nothing about it.

"Now let's move onto my school years. When I finally did get my letter, after a month where my relatives absolutely refused to let me touch them, it was brought to me by Hagrid. Why Hagrid? When sending a letter to a Muggleborn or a Muggle-raised student, one of the Head of Houses or at the very least a qualified teacher goes. Hagrid, being nine feet tall and bloody scary, was the right incentive to stop the Dursleys from at least beating me in the future. So, he gave me some cake, put the fear into the Dursleys, etc, and then took me to Diagon Alley. Now, while I was there, Hagrid quite conveniently mentioned more than once how Dark Magic was bad, how Slytherin was a bad house, and how the Purebloods were far from nice people. Good information to know, but it tends to form an opinion in a star-struck little kid. I was being exposed to a new world by a kind guy, and I was more than ready to take his words at face value. An accident? I don't think so. Then Hagrid took me down to my vault, and quite conveniently decided not to inform me that that Vault was nothing more than a Trust Fund, and that the Potter Vault was far bigger and fuller than that one. Then, he takes me to pick up the Philosopher's Stone, thus making me intrigued as to what it is. Of course, since I was new to the Wizarding World, I could be trusted to try my damndest to find out what that grubby little package was.

"So, I go back to Privet Drive, all happy about the fact that I can do something as cool as magic. When the time comes for me to get on the Hogwarts Express, I find that Hagrid had conveniently forgotten to inform me of how to actually get on the platform. So there I am, standing on platform nine with my trunk and owl, with no clue how to get to school. Coincidentally, at the same time the Weasley family is getting to the train, and I hear Molly Weasley ask what the Platform number was. Now, she herself went to school using the train, and each of her children used the train, so why would she ask a question like that? The only answer I have is that she was told to do so, at the exact time that I would be there, so that I would ask them for help. Now, as soon as I got on the train, the first people I met were Fred and George, and that was entirely harmless. Then, Ron came and sat with me for the rest of the trip, and quite frankly informed me that Malfoy and the other Slytherins were bad news. He was sure that he would be in Gryffindor, and as he was my first friend, I decided that I wanted to be in Gryffindor as well.

"So, the sorting took place, and I argued with the Hat and refused to let it put me in Slytherin. Now, let me make things clear: I am _not_ a Gryffindor. For ten years, I had to basically take care of myself and rely on my wits to get me out of situations, and into the good graces of others. I was Slytherin material even then, and I was more than ambitious in my spur of the moment decision to become the best Wizard possible. Living with the Gryffindors this far has certainly made me more bold and obtrusive in my actions, but I still keep secrets and am a cunning person. I needed to be, for otherwise I would fail to keep my affairs in the Chamber a secret.

"Classes started, and everything was going great. I got on the Quidditch team, I had friends for the first time, and I was getting great food everyday. Then, things started turning to the worse after Halloween; the whole business with the Troll in the Dungeons happened. I got involved with the Stone, and I began trying to find out more about it. By Christmas, I got my invisibility cloak from Dumbledore, and a few nights later, I found the mirror of Erised. Dumbledore met me there and talked to me, so that I would get a basic idea of how the mirror worked before I finally tried to get the stone out of it a few months later. Eventually, we found out about Nicholas Flamel, and realized that it was the stone that was being hidden there."

Here, Harry paused as the waitress brought their burgers, and they dove in with relish as their hunger was slowly sated.

Between bites, but without speaking with food in his mouth, Harry continued the story.

"At the end of the year, we still didn't have things right. Ron, being the idiot he is, kept drawing me away into chess and Quidditch. We thought that the person trying to steal the stone was Snape, not Quirrel, and the three of us headed down to 'rescue' it. Now…what are the chances that a chess board, a dog, a plant, some keys and a troll would stop someone as powerful as Voldemort? Not only that, but the tasks were specifically geared to the three of us. Ron is good at chess, so there was a chessboard. Hermione has a lot of knowledge, so there were two tasks that she would be needed in. I was good at general magic and flying, so there were brooms for me to find a key, and a troll to be taken out like we did earlier in the year. I didn't see it then, but it was nothing more than a test. Doubtless, Dumbledore was probably following us invisibly.

"The tasks that needed to be passed were incredibly easy. A simple killing curse would have taken care of the dog, no matter how big it was. The door that led into the whole thing was locked with a simple locking charm that a first year could break. The dog was guarding a trapdoor, and under it was a Devil's Snare, a plat that Voldemort could have defeated even without his wand. Conjuring a small ball of fire wandlessly, or using a _lumos_ spell is hardly taxing for someone of his power and knowledge. A simple summoning charm would have taken care of the keys fluttering about near the door. In any case, why would the correct key be there at all? The point was _supposed _to be to stop someone from finding the stone, not to make it a tiny bit harder. In any case, another killing curse would have taken care of the door, even if it was shielded. Being first years, we then had to go through the chessboard, McGonagall's contribution. We had to play them, and I must say…I played harder games in the common room with Ron before. Voldemort, on the other hand, would have simply blasted the pieces away, and rebuilt them as he walked through the next door.

"The last task, before the final one, was Snape's. There were a rack of potions, and a scroll that had a riddle that needed to be deciphered. The doors that went in and out were barred by dragon's fire. Since we were First Years, we actually had to decipher the riddle. Voldemort, on the other hand, would have known immediately what the potions were, and he would have used the right one to go through to the end. So, Hermione went back, and I went through. I found Quirrel, and he wasn't stuttering anymore, and rather than act like a squib, he was performing wandless magic with ease. The final task was the Mirror of Erised, which Dumbledore had 'coincidentally' shown me earlier in the year. Now, the enchantment on it was specific; one had to want the stone, but not want to use it themselves to actually get it. Voldemort couldn't have removed the stone from it at all, so the other tasks were simply to slow him down on the way.

"In the end, the stone appeared my pocket, and Voldemort knew about it, even if Quirrel didn't. When he tried to get the stone from me, he got burned when he touched my skin. Now, this in itself is odd…why would he get burnt by touching me when my mother didn't actually do anything to protect me? I don't mean to sound unappreciative of her sacrifice…but she had no time at all to place such a deep enchantment on me, if it is possible at all. The only reason that comes to mind is that since Voldemort was already possessing Quirrel, he could not touch me, for it is impossible to control two bodies at once. Perhaps my mother _did_ cast a spell on me at some point, but she would not have had the time to perform a full enchantment that night. I've seen the whole thing in my dreams and when I'm around Dementors, and she only had about thirty seconds from when my father died to place any enchantments on me. Considering that a locking enchantment takes about ten seconds to incant and perform, I doubt something as powerful could have been performed in thirty seconds. Perhaps whatever protective enchantment she put on me reacted badly with the curse, making me untouchable to him."

Tonks nodded, entirely engrossed in the story she was being told. A lot of her preconceptions had been shattered today, but she knew that what Harry was saying was undeniable in its truth. Of course, she had no basis to make that judgment by herself, but the events had happened to him, and his explanation sounded more plausible than any she could come up with or any that were offered by others. She only had the barest shreds of loyalty left to Dumbledore, and the last hour had changed even that. She now bore him no trust at all, for after all, it was hard to trust someone who wanted to use you in the worst way possible.

"Well, Quirrel got burned to death because I grabbed onto him before he could fire a killing curse at me. Voldemort's spirit got blown away from the room when he lost his host, and since he couldn't use me because of whatever protection it is, his time ran out and he was banished from Hogwarts. Apparently, he fled back to Albania, where Wormtail found him two summers later. So the year ended, and when I finally woke up in the Hospital Wing, Dumbledore was sitting next to me. I asked him then why Voldemort was after me, but he wouldn't reply…he said it was not the time to tell me. When I found out about the prophecy a few days ago, he told me that he wanted me to have a happy childhood before putting the weight of the prophecy on my shoulders. A happy childhood? I don't think he made an adequate effort."

Tonks grinned at his sarcasm, causing a piece of onion to fall out of her full mouth. She stared at it oddly, almost inquisitively, and Harry burst out laughing at the expression of confusion on her face.

He made to continue, but decided against it. "You told me last year that you left Hogwarts at the end of my second year, right? You probably know what happened that year…the entire school knew about the Chamber of Secrets business. I guess there isn't much to tell about that year, and I can't tell you about what happened over the next few years. Suffice it to say that after Lord Slytherin opened my eyes, I quickly became aware of what was happening. I mostly went along with things for the sake of it…Dumbledore would have come crashing down around my ears if he had even the slightest inkling that I was aware of what he was doing."

Tonks nodded thoughtfully, still munching on her burger. "What I don't understand is the standard of Defense Teachers that he hired. I had Lockhart the same year that I took my NEWTs! I nearly failed my Defense NEWT because the man was incompetent. Luckily, I studied on my own and got it done. The year you came, the Defense Teachers started going bad…first Quirrel, then Lockhart. Before that, we had Steeple for a year, and a whole bunch of others. The curse exists, I guess, but at least they were competent teachers, and nothing like death or memory loss happened to them."

Harry nodded, replying "Of course. It wouldn't do for me to learn too much, would it? Dumbledore knew that I would be a rival to his power someday. Why expose me to more magic when all that was needed was for me to explode at some point in life?"

She grinned, saying "You make it sound so dramatic, Harry."

He scowled playfully, making a rude gesture with his hand. "Oi! I'm the one who's gonna blow up, so I'll thank you to keep your snarky comments to yourself." She grinned in return, and finished off the burger quickly.

Looking up, she started in disbelief. "Harry, how the hell did you finish your burger faster than me when you were talking the whole time?" He shrugged, muttering something about 'growing boys'.

Harry tossed a ten-pound note on the table, another wonder of magic. He had cast a duplication spell on a note that he took from Vernon's wallet. That, however, was the last of his money, since he had returned the original bill. They left the diner in silence, enjoying the growing heat. It was a relief, considering that it was almost never this pleasant outside, what with the rapidly fluctuating weather that England was supposedly famous for.

As they walked back, Tonks asked "Will you ever tell me about what happened in your other three years at school? I understand that it's a trust issue, and if I was in your place, I would probably feel the same way. You have my oath of silence, but tell me sometime, huh? When I prove my loyalty, or whatever."

He grinned, replying "Yeah. Maybe."

"So you hate Dumbledore then? I would too, if I went through the same shit that he put you through," she asked.

Harry smirked at her, and said "Nope. I don't hate him. Frankly, I admire the man."

At her incredulous look, he grinned and continued, "Don't misunderstand me. What I mean is that the man is a master at manipulation. He has incredible skill at it, and I've had to rely on my own wits and Salazar's guidance to keep from falling for his tricks. Until halfway through my fourth year, I regularly let Salazar go through my mind to check up on what was happening so that he could point out anything that I missed. Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you…his portrait has the same legilimency that the sorting hat uses. Dumbledore has literally controlled the entire Wizarding World for over sixty years. He is, by far, the most powerful man in the world in terms of political positioning. _Everyone_ owes him favors, everyone treats him like the benevolent grandfather. If he needs something done, people are simply lined up to do it for him. The man is good at what he does, but I will hopefully be smart enough to get myself out of his grasp.

"I dislike him, rightfully, I might add, for what he has done to me. However, I can't really fault him, especially since it would be hypocritical. I'm set to do the same thing to people once I take over my Lordship."

Tonks looked at him doubtfully when he mentioned that he couldn't fault Dumbledore for what he had done. "Tonks, think of it from his position. He is practically the head of the Wizarding World. He's been in control for years, working behind the scenes subtly to enhance his control. There's a Dark Lord that he can't kill himself, and he knows that no-one but young Harry Potter can do it. In his position, would you take even the slightest chance that someone with a different agenda might influence the only person that can deliver the Wizarding World from Voldemort? He did things a bit harshly, but it was a smart move. If I was to be deviated form my set path of defeating Voldemort, then all would be lost. If I don't feel up to killing Voldemort, then he effectively has immortality, at least until another prophecy is created citing another chosen one."

Tonks nodded hesitantly, understanding his reasoning, but still not fully convinced.

"Don't get me wrong, Tonks. I don't like the man, since it was my life that he screwed up. I will never ally myself with him, I will never take his advice at face value, and I will certainly never trust him. That, however, doesn't mean that I can't admire the way in which he solidified his control over the Wizarding World. Let's just say that if I was Dumbledore on Halloween 1981, I would have made damn sure that the prophecy boy placed his trust solely in me. I wouldn't have thrown the child to the dogs like he did, but I would have raised the child myself, making sure that the kid thought of me as a trustworthy father-figure. Now, I have to establish myself as a major player in the war, and I have to do it without revealing the Prophecy. That makes it all the more hard, since no-one has a reason to think that a sixteen year old kid is worth their allegiance. I will have to manipulate some people in the same way that he did, except for the fact that I'm not doing to make myself the Supreme Leader of the Wizarding World. After this war, if I survive, I fully intend to go relax on a beach somewhere."

She grinned at his dreamy expression. "I told you that I had my own reasons to dislike Dumbledore, right?"

At his nod, she composed herself and said "Well, Harry, he wanted me to do something filthy. A few months ago, after an Order meeting, he assigned me to scope out Knocturn Alley. He told me to try and get information in _any way possible_. It was suggestive enough that I nearly slapped him across the face. I nearly quit the Order, but he folded, and assigned me to something else."

She looked up at Harry, her cheeks burning in embarrassment, and nearly tripped out of shock. His eyes were blazing a powerful shade of green as he stared forwards resolutely, the bright emerald of the Killing curse. His jaw had tightened visibly, and his hands were balled into fists, the muscles on his forearms shifting as he squeezed his fists tightly. Finally, he took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. A second later, his demeanor was back to normal, and she was taken aback by his extreme control over his emotions. His body language had indicated only in the slightest way that he was angry, but he never burst out yelling like a child. It struck her again how _old_ he seemed, far more mature than his age.

He looked at her, and ground out through tight, thin lips "I see."

She squeezed his forearm comfortingly, although the action seemed to comfort her more than it did him.

Trying to change the topic, she asked "So…what's Salazar Slytherin like? Is he a pureblood elitist or is he a nice chap but misunderstood?" He cracked a wry grin at her attempt at humor.

"He truly believes in pureblood honor and heritage, as do I. However, he doesn't hate Muggles or Muggleborns, or mixed-bloods, the same as me. I've taken after him a lot over the years of learning from him. The basilisk was supposed to be a defense against the Church…in the year 1,024, the Church found out about Hogwarts. They nearly attacked, and the Basilisk would have been the one to defend Hogwarts, just by lying there and staring at them. But, things cooled down later, because an Archbishop had a magical child in his clergy, and before the kid was killed, someone from Hogwarts went to visit them, and explained the Magical world to them. I'm sure you heard about the treaty between the Magical Nations and the Church in 1,058. They signed the Treaty in the Ministry in Rome and in London. The Pope, apparently, liked the floo very much. At that point, he didn't have the heart to set the Basilisk free in some jungle, so he kept it in the Chamber."

Tonks grinned in reply. She was slightly taken aback when Harry had spoken of how he believed in pureblood honor, but his next lines cleared her doubts up.

"So, what sort of relationship do you have with him? He sounds like a polite version of Lucius Malfoy…without the pureblood stigma."

Harry laughed at her description, and then grinned at her slyly.

"Well, Tonks, since it started as a Master/Apprentice relationship; that is what it's like when he instructs me. At other times? A father/son relationship. He is my father, after all."

Tonks fainted for the second time in twenty four hours.

'_Goddamn Hufflepuffs'_ Harry smirked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Good God, Tonks," Harry said, smirking widely. He had very nearly pulled a muscle trying to grab Tonks before she hit the ground, and he had to hide his wince as he spoke.

She stirred, eyes bleary, and tentatively said "Good joke, Harry. Try not to make me faint again, eh?"

Harry grinned, hauling her to her feet. "No joke, Tonks. Why joke around or lie when I know you can't tell anyone about what we discuss?"

She stared at him for a few seconds, and then burst into questions. "How? What- it isn't possible! He died a thousand years ago! Tell me? Please? What do you mean?"

Grinning, Harry started walking towards Privet Drive, calling over his shoulder "Take a guess…we can make it a game."

Scowling, she rushed to catch up with him.

* * *

Yellow teeth, stained thusly due to the effect of countless noxious gases being ingested, were bared as a sallow, hook-nosed man stared at Harry Potter. Malevolence and hate flowed from his eyes as he regarded the whelp before him, cursing to high heavens the fact that he had been chosen for such a menial task. A slightly hunched posture, unbecoming for any self-respecting pureblood, contorted the man, no doubt due to countless hours spent hunched over cauldrons, peering interestedly into their murky depths. 

His lip curled in a snarl as he watched the boy approach, the pink-haired metamorphmagus conversing with him quite avidly. Some surprise registered in the depths of his obsidian eyes as he watched the young man stiffen suddenly, and make a motion for the woman to silence herself. Striking emerald green eyes, the legacy of a mudblood woman, narrowed as he scanned his surroundings looking for something that might stand out. The gaze that reflected the light of the killing curse swept to and fro, and suddenly settled exactly upon the hook-nosed man.

A dainty eyebrow was raised, the expression, to him, looking curiously cultured upon the face of someone as unworthy as the boy. The sallow man bit back a snarl as he was spotted, for he knew not how the whelp knew that he was being watched.

A voice, cultured and deep, rang out across the short distance that separated the two men. Both were dark haired, but with dispositions so entirely opposite that it made the contrast between the two stand out even more than it would normally.

"Hiding behind trees, Snivellus? Of course you are. It would take a _man_ to stand in the open…only mice curse when backs are turned." The young man spoke with conviction, a mocking lilt to his voice as he regarded the one who had been hiding.

This time, the man failed to hold hack his snarl, and his voice rang out across the road, anger and hate dripping as if it were venom.

"Your arrogance can astound even the basest creatures, Potter. You are much like your father in that aspect. You will address me with respect, you whelp. I am your superior, while you are nothing but a schoolboy with delusions of grandeur."

A chuckle, deep and throaty issued form the lips of the young man. "Arrogant? Me? Snivellus, you seem to be confused. Of course, you would be right to call me arrogant if I were to preach about _brewing fame, bottling glory and putting a stopper on death_."

The tone was mocking and humorous, but nothing but malice was reflected in the eyes of the young man named Harry Potter.

Snape emerged from the shadow of the tree that he had been concealed in, sweeping across the street much like a cheesy villain would. Hate glittered menacingly in the obsidian depths of his eyes, the soulless orbs excelling in their attempt at conveying his general contempt for the young Potter. The comment stung like the barb it was meant to be; the boy had thrown his words back into his face.

"You will show me respect, boy, or mark my words, you'll live to regret it! Do not forget; I am a fully qualified Wizard, while you are a pathetic student, incapable of using magic during the summertime." Whatever he hoped to achieve by pointing out such an obvious fact was lost as the boy sneered right in his face.

"You wish to curse me, Snivellus? I daresay I'd have to turn my back on you before you could accomplish that." He was overdoing it, true, but it was extremely unlikely that Snape would divulge what Harry said about him. After all, the man was more than prideful, and being lambasted by someone he hated would not be conducive to his image.

Snape's knuckles were white as he grasped his wand, bringing it to bear at Harry Potter. The words that he had uttered that night two years ago were repeated, evoking a sudden remembrance of a lost friend in the young man.

"Give me a reason, Potter. Just give me a reason, and I'll end it for you."

The chuckle re-emerged, as the metamorphmagus looked on at their verbal sparring emotionlessly.

"Excellent words, Snape. As I recall, the last time you uttered them, three thirteen year olds made a fool of you. I believe you were floated out of the Shrieking Shack looking like a rag doll, only to pretend that you had accomplished something great an hour later."

The barest of flinches registered in the man's expression, but Harry caught it anyways, smirking at him.

"Now; enough of this childishness, Snivellus. Do you have a purpose to be here, or are you now taking orders from your favorite tattoo-artist?" He stared quite pointedly at the man's left forearm, where the Dark Mark of Lord Voldemort resided under the sleeve of his robes.

He sneered at Potter, and snarled "Do not venture where it is dangerous, Potter…you seem to think that your foolish displays of bravado are what constitutes a man fighting in this war. Being set in your arrogance is what will ultimately destroy you, Potter…if I don't do it first. Worthless epithets don't make you a great wizard, oh great Boy-Who-Lived. Now, as to your impertinent question; I am here on orders from Dumbledore."

A bored expression on his face, Harry said "Well? Do I have to beat it out of you or will you tell me on your own volition? Honestly, one would think that you might have learned that your penchant for dramatics simply makes you seem immature. You lord knowledge over other people like a schoolboy with a secret. Oh, well…what else can be expected from someone who persists of his jealousy of a dead man?"

A sneer accompanied the reply of "You really should watch your tongue, Potter, or someone might just cut it off. The Headmaster believes that you might try to curse your…relatives." The word was sneered with revulsion, and he continued, "He has instructed me to take your wand from you. It will be returned to you at the end of the summer. Your invisibility cloak will also be needed, for that idiot Podmore caused one of them to be confiscated. You are not to leave the house the whole summer. Now, hand over your wand!"

Harry tapped his chin with his index finger in a thoughtful expression, whiling away a good five seconds before he unconcernedly remarked "Well, Snivellus, I do believe you can go fuck yourself."

The metamorphmagus standing next to him cracked up in hysterical laughter, increasing Snape's general feeling of contempt at the moment.

"This is no joke, Potter! Hand over your wand and invisibility cloak immediately!" he snarled, brandishing his own wand at the pair threateningly.

If a Muggle were to see them at this moment, they would be perplexed, as it seemed like a weirdo dressed in a bathrobe was trying to intimidate a young man and woman with a ten-inch long stick.

"Snivellus, I thought I made myself clear. The day I willingly hand my wand over to a Death Eater is the day that pigs fly. It is more likely that you will get laid than for such a travesty to occur. My wand is just that: mine. I shall relinquish it to nobody. You may kindly inform the Headmaster that his wishes are not acceptable to me. As he well knows, I am in danger, and when my life is on the line, Mafalda Hopkirk's general ire isn't very high on the list of things I would be particularly concerned about. The same goes for my Invisibility Cloak. It was the property of my father, and of his father's before him. To hand over a family heirloom to one such as you would be insanity. The Order can make do with what it has. I shall not lend my possessions to them simply because they wish to sit around in the Leakey Cauldron and stare accusingly at whosoever passes by. After all, a disillusionment charm goes a long way when you hide in the shadows and glare at people."

Snape nearly shouted in anger, but instead stormed close to Harry, and flicked his wand, muttering _"Imperio!_ You will hand me your wand and Invisibility Cloak!"

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, simply grinned in response, and flung his fist out, hitting the man in the throat with his knuckles. Snape fell to the floor gasping for breath, his wand having fallen from his fingers.

"Snivellus…I am shocked. Using an unforgivable on a student? On the Boy-Who-Lived? And that too in front of an Auror? Egad, man, I knew you were stupid, but this goes beyond the pale. I have taken the Imperius from your half-blood master and thrown it off. What hope do you have?"

Snape choked out "Potter! How dare you touch me! I'll have you expelled!"

Harry laughed. "Snape, you are standing in the lawn of my property. You entered my house uninvited, slandered and attacked me. You used an unforgivable. What did Crouch say about them? Ah, yes…use of one on another living being is enough to warrant a life-long stay in Azkaban. I defended myself, which, of course, is entirely permissible."

Snape sneered at him, slowly rising to his feet. He tried to lift his wand as he stood, but found that the toe of Tonks' shoe pressed it firmly to the ground. He looked up at her to berate her, but silenced himself as he saw a fire burning in her eyes. Slowly, she said "Snape, you have exactly three seconds to apparate out of here before I stun you point-blank, and arrest you."

He snarled "You wouldn't dare, you worthless harlot! Dumbledore needs me, so you can't do a thing to me! Now, give me my wand!"

She stared at him with hate in her eyes in response, the barb doing nothing to faze her. Aurors faced people far more dangerous than Severus "Snivellus" Snape. "I am an Auror, _Snivellus_. I can do exactly what I want in this situation. Dumbledore might need you, but no-one else does. So, I will warn you again. Pick up your wand. Turn around. Disapparate and never return. You have three seconds. In any case, I cannot understand what Dumbledore was thinking when he entrusted the location of this house to one such as _you_." The word was sneered with undisguised disgust, her general evaluation of the man before her coming through quite clearly.

Harry looked at Tonks appraisingly. He liked what he saw; the beautiful Auror was far from a pushover. It seemed that last year had been a pretense, for she must have faked her quails whenever Molly Weasley glared at her…such hardiness as she was displaying now would not permit quaking before the ire of an impotent opponent. Respect, though it was veiled while Snape was around, was the primary feeling within his mind at the moment.

The look in her eyes convinced him, and he did as she said, pausing to bite out "You will regret this, Potter!" Then, he was gone, a crack in the air denoting that he had disapparated, and that he was not a particularly powerful wizard at all.

After twenty years of using Apparation, a moderately powerful Wizard should have been able to apparate with a simple 'pop'. His loud crack indicated that he was not particularly powerful at all, which was probably why he had taken to Potions in the first place. Even a muggle could mix potions, as the ingredients put the magic into the potion, not the brewer. Harry also recalled Sirius' comment that Snape knew a lot of Dark curses by the time he had started Hogwarts, which was another indicator of his low power level. Dark Magic made powerful results, while less taxing on one's magic than one would expect, considering the effect that they made. Those who relied on them solely, Voldemort not included, probably had little power to boast. This made them useful spells to learn for those that had little power, as it got things done quite effectively. It was no wonder that Snape excelled in them, or rather, at the narrow scope of dark spells that he was capable of using.

Tonks turned to Harry, and grinned. "A true Slytherin, eh? I liked your responses to his comments…diplomatic tone, but stinging insults nonetheless."

Harry gave a mock bow, theatrically exclaiming "Ah, fair lady, your favor means ever so much to me!"

She grinned again, swatting him on the arm playfully. "Alright, Harry. Quit beating around the bush. Explain _immediately_ what you meant when you said that Slytherin was your father. I'm sick of waiting!"

A sly smile spread across his face as he looked at her. Since reviving her, her questions had been met by extremely vague and misleading answers, causing her to get quite riled up. He had even turned it into a game, telling her to keep guessing, and then laughing hysterically at the incredible ideas she had thought up. The last one was a true gem: she decided that the only way left was that Lily Potter had been blasted back through time, and had fallen in love with Salazar, who had unfortunately had to send her back to the future without any time having passed. He had laughed at her embarrassed blush when he rather unequivocally stated that James Potter was his father.

He now had on good authority, what with his snarky comments about her being a Hufflepuff, that she was a Ravenclaw. His shock at that statement had not been entirely faked.

"Fine; ruin the fun, Tonks. It's quite simple, really. By about halfway through my fourth year, we had gotten pretty close. Of course, technically speaking, I have never really known the real Salazar, but that's just a small problem. A thousand years ago, when the portrait was created, he gave it a specific task, and enchanted it with many spells. Apparently, after enchanting it, he was magically exhausted for seven months-ouch!"

Tonks scowled at him as he digressed, and had whacked him on the shoulder, making him yelp.

Scowling right back, he continued "One of the purposes of the portrait was to choose a male heir to bear the Slytherin name. You see, Salazar only had a daughter, and his wife died during childbirth, leaving him with the girl. He loved her dearly, but always wanted his family name to live on. Now, Voldemort is descended from that girl, a true travesty, for she was apparently a pleasant person. Salazar knew that he could never marry again…not because he did not want to, but because by the time he got over his grief-which was what made him leave Hogwarts-he was a tad old to have kids. So, he decided that he would station his portrait in the Chamber, and assign it with the task of choosing his heir.

"Now, the point of this was actually quite simple. Since only those of the Slytherin bloodline could speak Parseltongue, it was obvious that only his direct descendants would ever find the Chamber, and thus the Portrait. So, basically, he was going to confer _his_ family name onto a descendant that proved himself worthy of the honor, which means that he wouldn't really be adopting someone, but he would be giving the Lordship of the Family to someone who already _was_ his direct descendant. This certainly is a big deal, because since the current line originates from his daughter, they cannot open the Slytherin vaults. Of course, the Wizengamot seat belonging to the line of Slytherin was abolished, but the money and heirlooms in the Slytherin vaults are rather valuable.

"Okay, so what he did was that he gave his portrait a few enchantments. I told you that he gave it the same legilimency as the Sorting Hat. He also gave it a way to recognize blood purity, since even though he wasn't an elitist, he would rather have kept his line pure. Now, within the Portrait, he hid a vial of his blood, held under incredibly strong preservation charms. I found out by the end of my second year, thanks to the portrait, that I was a pureblood with rather potent blood in my veins. It took a while, but eventually, we got to know each other pretty well. Halfway through my fourth year, about two years worth of knowing him, he told me that he had judged me worthy. That's all there is to it, really. It was a painful ritual, I'll tell you that much. That's how my eyes got fixed."

She raised an eyebrow, looking at him curiously. "You don't sound all that enthusiastic about things."

He shrugged dismissively in response. "You have to understand…he isn't really my father. Salazar Slytherin himself did not adopt me. I haven't gone fishing with him or anything like that. It has always been a Master-Apprentice relationship between us, and so it will remain. Of course, when he is not teaching me, we are slightly looser with each other and are more prone to actually showing the slightest emotion. Having a portrait as a father is not the easiest thing to bypass, y'know? I can't exactly give him a hug. As I said, I was judged worthy. Lord Slytherin has never been a very emotional man, and this was more of a business venture than anything else. He saw me to be someone who could do the Slytherin name and credo proud, and bring it honor."

She nodded, feeling slightly sorry for Harry, and he caught it immediately. She was struck again, realizing that he truly was a consummate actor. Harry would have been expected to scream and shout in such a position, but his obvious maturity and capability of rational thought certainly contrasted the differences between the two versions of him that she knew. Apparently, his entire demeanor before, the image of a brash, irritable youngster, was a sham, a meticulously constructed falsification.

He smiled at her comfortingly, saying "Don't feel pity…I don't have use for that. Listen, it was pretty much the same for me. Doing the ritual gave me some benefits that I didn't have, and it assured Lord Slytherin of my dedication and honesty. I was able to speak Parseltongue fluently and instantaneously rather than with a lot of effort. My eyes healed themselves, and I received some minor degree of natural skill at Occlumency. You see…he knew, even then, that I would eventually fight Tom to the death. Of course, we didn't know that it was literally like that at the point. If I managed to kill Tom, Slytherin blood would no longer exist in the magical world. No more direct heirs of Slytherin would exist, which would mean that he would have to give another person his family name. Since he didn't know if my Parseltongue would become hereditary, the gift of snake-speech might even have entirely faded away. By adopting me, he ensured that not only his blood would live on, but that his name would too. If Voldemort won, an Heir would still live. It sounds barbaric, in hindsight, but it was what I would have done. What I got in return simply sweetened the deal. I got those advantages that I mentioned, and I got access to a rather large vault filled with incredible things…books, artifacts, heirlooms. I don't mean to sound materialistic, but it's the truth. We each received an equal bonus from going through it."

She made a noise to indicate that she understood, and asked "What does this make you? I mean, what's your full, real name now?"

"Well, as the world knows me, I'm still Harry James Potter. My name wasn't changed by the ritual; I wouldn't have it. James and Lily Potter were my parents, and I will not let that be taken from me. The only difference is that I now have the blood of the Slytherin Family, the Potter Family, and my Mother's family within me. I don't have the Black blood in me, but Sirius made me his heir by magic last summer, a nifty little ritual involving nothing more than a few oaths, none which require loyalty to the current Blacks, meaning I can still kill Bellatrix."

She nodded with an impressed look on her face. "You realize, of course, that you stand to gain a veritable mountain of money in a month? The assets of the Blacks and Potters are rather large, and doubtless, the Slytherin Vault will contain priceless artifacts. Do you know which line your mother comes from?"

"She was the last Heiress of the Crowen Family. It is old, and has had some rather powerful members, but it isn't a part of the Magical Aristocracy. They were well known in some circles, with many being Hit-Wizards or Mercenaries. Not really rich, I would say, but they were respected in their circles. While my mother's family is not nearly as well respected as the Potters were, or the Malfoys, they carried their own weight in the circles they frequented. The bloody heritage potion took way too long to make, what with having to simmer it for seven months, and adding the lacewings each full moon."

She laughed at his annoyed expression, and said "Incredible. You have two seats on the Wizengamot, apparently, since the Slytherin seat was abolished. Still, if you play up the fact that you are Slytherin's heir, you can get a rather large amount of support from some families, though it will detract from the support you get from the Light families."

He nodded, replying "It isn't something I will bandy about aimlessly. It can only be revealed under an oath of silence, and that, too, only to those that cannot be convinced by other means. You might have noticed that _I_ stand to inherit from my mother's side of the family, while Lord Slytherin's daughter's line could not?"

At her nod, he continued "You see, until sometime in the late 1400's, Magical Law prevented inheritance through the Mother's line. Rather lucky for me or otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, and I'd probably be holed up in my room, crying and talking only to my owl."

She fell quiet, thinking hard, and continuing into the house.

They returned to the room, and she sat down on the bed, still thinking hard. Finally, as he watched her, she raised her head, and said "Recite the Prophecy to me. I want to know the exact words."

He blinked, and acquiesced. _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those that have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. The Dark Lord will mark him as an equal, but he shall have the power the Dark Lord knows not. Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is born as the seventh month dies._ Voldemort heard the first sentence, because the spy was kicked out of the pub at that point._"_

She nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. "You realize that this was done purposely, too? You told me that Voldemort's spy heard the first sentence. If he had heard the next one, then he would have known not to touch neither you nor Longbottom, therefore basically putting the Prophecy on hold. Quite convenient. Why was the spy found out at that point? One would think that once the Prophecy had started, Dumbledore would be too engrossed in it to take the time to get rid of a spy. And in any case, why wasn't the spy obliviated? Kicking him or her out wouldn't serve any purpose."

Harry's muscles stiffened, his hands unconsciously folding into tight fists. "Interesting observation," he ground out eventually, only the slightest hint of anger in his tone.

By the time she blinked, his expression was jovial once more, not betraying even the slightest hint of anger. Perplexed as she was, she let it drop.

"How'd you like to teach me how to apparate, Tonks?" he asked cheerfully.

She raised an eyebrow. "After pointing out to Snape not five minutes ago that I'm an Auror, you ask me to teach you how to Apparate?"

He grinned, saying "Well, Tonks, I can either learn from my book, or you could teach me…at least this way you can keep an eye on what's happening."

Grinning at his reasoning, she said "Sure…but why?"

"I have been given two weeks to relax. I'm supposed to learn how to apparate and make portkeys in these two weeks, and then I'm back in training with Lord Slytherin."

She blinked, and said "Well, you'd better get down to it, then. I can't teach you how to make a portkey…I'm only a 3rd ranked Auror. My wand is tracked, and I don't have clearance to make them yet. Only Second and First Rank Aurors can make them."

He looked expectant as he said "Well? Hop to it, then, teacher! I'll figure out the Portkeys myself, and the book that Lord Slytherin gave me might solve your little tracking problem."

* * *

The door clicked shut, the sound ominous despite the cheerful disposition of the man inhabiting the room. 

The reason for this became rapidly obvious as twinkling eyes suddenly dimmed, although they retained their intensity. A long finger absently twirled a strand of hair as the old man thoughtfully stroked his beard, contemplating puzzles that had just become more complicated. Where cheerful, pleasant eyes once shone, lay a pair of cool blue eyes, calculating and pensive as they swept the room. They alighted on a curious contraption, a criss-cross of small metal pipes that formed an octagon in three dimensions, a ball of light floating between them. The light was tinged green at the moment, but flashed pink for a second, showing a slight switch to mild irritation. Closing his eyes, the man breathed deeply, causing the ball of light to cycle through colors, eventually turning a yellow-green that signified utter tranquility.

It was easy to take the old man as a joke, what with the batty comments and the overenthusiastic, pleasant disposition that he usually exhibited. In the presence of others, he was the grandfather, the slightly insane, yet lovably interesting old man. In seclusion, however, the story was different, vastly so. Albus Dumbledore had rarely been transparent in thought and action, thus being able to cement his image of eccentricity even as a youth. Later in life, the image had served him well; allowing him to accumulate debts owed to him, and to capitalize on them by asking favors to grant him knowledge. When the debt was given, it was given to a pleasant man, a gentleman who had helped out of the kindness of his heart. The debts were given as a role of protocol; not really voiced, in the same way that they were not meant to be taken seriously. However, the one who collected the debt was not the pleasant man, rather a calculating, scheming one.

He rose smoothly, ignoring the squeals of the House-Elves on his robe. Their ears flapped wildly as protuberant eyes watered in shame and subservience even in two-dimensional representation, the irritating actions simply begging for castigation. The robes, colorful and extravagantly odd, simply bolstered the impression that he was slightly senile. Walking smoothly to the wall, he cast a look at the portraits lining the circular room. These were his minions, his path to knowledge. Almost nothing passed their scrutiny, consequently allowing him to possess some degree of omniscience, at least within Hogwarts.

"Is he still here?" he asked one, the demand to the point as always. The woman, looking as dotty as he did, disappeared for a second, and returned.

Once again, it was proved that impressions meant little. She glared at him through eyes that were a vivid red in color, hate marring her features. "No," she snarled, painted flecks of spittle emerging hatefully from her mouth, "your filthy little half-blood is gone. He left the Entrance Hall a minute ago. The castle is empty, save for you, blood-traitor that you are."

Dumbledore gazed at her mildly, a reproachful look on his face. He wasn't impressed in the least by the venom she spewed. "Really, Mares, must you use such language?"

Rather than indulge herself in another tirade of hateful screams pontificating Pureblood Supremacy, the woman simply glared at him. Her eyes clearly announced her opinion of him; a dotard indulging in games that were far past his age. She bit back her snarl, deciding to ignore him completely. Apparently, as boring as death was, she would rather not debate this topic again.

Giving her a look filled with disappointment, one that he usually reserved for unruly students, he muttered "Sanctuary."

A curious knob, golden in color and affixed to the wall to serve no fathomable purpose, glowed red and swirled away. A second later, what had once been just another ornament in the office had transformed into a humble doorway. Dumbledore walked through, triggering a ward that re-sealed the door behind him.

Mahogany flooring gleamed, a stark contrast to the cold stone in the rest of the castle, advertising the efforts of his house-elf. The walls were generally bare, save for the bookshelves that cluttered the room. A worn rug graced the floor before the hearth, a comfortable seat stationed upon it. These were his quarters, his inner sanctum. This room held memories of Albus Dumbledore that would shock anyone in the Magical World. This was where Albus Dumbledore was himself, free of the demands of image and decorum.

He sank into the plush ottoman, reclining into its comfort with a sigh. A snap of his fingers summoned his personal house-elf, who promptly followed his orders to fetch a decanter of fine French wine, a product of Bordeaux. Taking a sip, he allowed himself a smile as he recognized the vintage, a fine year for wines…no, the appropriate term for such a beautiful period would be 'era'. His smile lingered as he pondered the excitement, the relaxation, and the bliss that the early 1920's had brought him.

Such exhibitions of humanity-genuine smiles or sighs-weren't seen in his office, unless they were fabricated. The famous sigh of Albus Dumbledore was the instrument of order in the Magical World, a sure sign that the greatest wizard of the age was burdened. It was an action that caused the most obstinate of people to fold and become docile, an action that was perfected by experimenting on students for over fifty years. It was a silent, effective protest, one that played on the compassion of his companion. The sudden switch from energetic old man to weary, burdened old man quite successfully made people more compassionate and accepting towards his opinion. With enough use, it even assured people that his opinion was best, that he was never wrong in his convictions.

Sighing, he rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes. The constant debates with Mares Tennenbaum, one of the ex-Headmistresses of Hogwarts, were wearing on his nerves. She, of course, was right. Pureblood Superiority was not simply fanaticism, it was the truth. In the Magical World, Purebloods were capable of things that Muggleborns could only dream of. It wasn't a rule of thumb, since Squibs only came from Magical Families, but in general terms, Purebloods were stronger.

Why? A simple allegory could explain it. Magic was like a fine wine, getting stronger and gaining potential with age. Of course, it could become over-ripe with age, and the result of this was a Squib…a person forced to bear the dregs left from the simmering, being the container for the over-ripe portions of the magic in a Family. With each Squib, the quality of magic deteriorated slightly, but remained pure. Families that dated back a hundred generations had extremely potent magic running through their veins, and not just symbolically.

Blood Magic was perhaps the most powerful magic that existed, an art that Muggleborn Wizards and Witches were incapable of performing. It had been outlawed viciously, an act that took place centuries ago. All information about Blood Magic was wrested from the population due to its power. The Blood Mages that had once populated Wales could have taken control of Hogwarts, or demolished it. It would not have been easy, since the Founders _had_ incorporated Blood-Wards, but with strength in number, it was possible. Luckily, the Blood Mages had never attempted such a blasphemy, out of respect for their greatest prodigy…Salazar Slytherin of all people. Luckily, Dumbledore mused, it was common knowledge that Slytherin had never passed on his knowledge of Blood Magic, never having deemed anyone worthy of such knowledge.

The Dumbledore Family was Pureblooded, albeit a Family that was formed a mere five centuries ago. A disowned wizard, still bearing his pure blood, had formed the Family, adopting the name Dumbledore. How Albus Dumbledore had yearned for knowledge of Blood Magic…for months he had begged his mentor to teach him. Nicholas Flamel, ever insightful, had refused, clasping him on the shoulder warmly even as he uttered words that would devastate Albus.

"_It is for the best, Albus, my child…I mean you no slight, but 'tis something that corrupts. Power…'tis something that ruins all that is pure. Be content with your lot, Albus, for Perenelle has **seen** what horrors shall emerge with the return of such knowledge. I can speak no more about this."_

Slight anger flashed through him as he recalled the conversation. After nearly 80 years, the pain had lessened, but it was not an easy thing to endure. Absently, his fingers found the blood red stone, the size of a small pebble, that hung from his neck on a necklace made of twine.

A Philosopher's Stone…the key to immortality, only not. This was nothing more than a replica, a symbol of dreams from a younger, more naïve age. It was real…a creation made for him by the Flamels, one that _would_ prolong his life, but it was far from the real thing. But it would not sustain him as its larger version did them. It secreted the elixir merely four times a year, each sip-sized dose removing the effect of one month from his wearied stature.

"_We have great faith in you, Albus. Someday, we know you will achieve the knowledge of how to construct a Stone for yourself. Keep yourself pure, my child, and the world shall luxuriate in the times of peace and prosperity you will bring it."_

However, Albus Dumbledore had hit a wall. It was as if Nicholas' mentorship had been the sole driving force in his acquisition for knowledge in the field of Alchemy. Since that day, he had made only the most minor gains in knowledge in the great art of Alchemy. As things looked now, he would never achieve that greatness.

For all his platitudes, Nicholas was nearly an equal to Albus himself in craftiness. All false modesty aside, Albus Dumbledore could, with great glee, proclaim himself to be far craftier than Nicholas Flamel, despite the four and a half centuries that currently separated their ages. Of course, such a proclamation would be anathema, considering Albus' aims in the current war. Five years ago, he had asked Nicholas to give up his stone for safe-keeping.

"_Voldemort searches for a way to return,"_ he had said_, "and he will certainly approach the stone."_

Nicholas, of course, had seen through it. No, Albus could truthfully say that he did not want the stone to analyze it, to tear it apart in search for the secret behind immortality. He wanted to use it as a trial for one Harry Potter. Of course, Nicholas' alternative of using a fake had worked just as well, but a certain part of Albus' psyche had always wanted to truly test the strength of Hogwarts' defenses. If he had actually held the Philosopher's Stone and protected it with the power that Hogwarts held, it would be a greatly positive portent for the coming war. Now, of course, Albus knew that even Hogwarts would not stand up to the might that Voldemort possessed. Perhaps it was because he descended from the founders, and it wished to protect its own. Perhaps not.

Voldemort.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Half-blood, Heir of Slytherin. The most powerful wizard in the world.

It was curious, he mused, how the amalgamation of feelings that he felt for Tom were so diverse. Of course, there was a certain amount of hate…some anger, despair, and some fear. True, Albus Dumbledore feared the power that Voldemort had. Most curious was the sense of pride. Albus was actually _proud_ of Tom. The boy he had once known decades ago had come a long way. When they had first met, Tom had been a sniveling little urchin of a child, malnutritioned and fearful. Albus had immediately thought him to be a Hufflepuff, despite his heritage, one that Albus had known of very well. After all, he _had_ dated Merope Gaunt in her youth, no matter how briefly. Giving birth at the age of fifty would possibly kill any woman. The boy had shocked him, becoming a Slytherin. Over the years, he grew colder, harsher, and more powerful. The façade of Lord Voldemort came in to play, creating an insurmountable wall between student and teacher.

Suspicion had reigned between them, Albus unable to prove Tom's guilt in the death of young Myrtle, and Tom vastly suspicious as to Albus's designs for him. It was a pity, he had wanted Tom to become his Apprentice someday, but times had changed things.

Harry James Potter had been in much the same position as Tom had been. He, too, had been a little urchin of a boy, more starved than even Tom had been. A demure, innocent boy, he had taken to magic with glee, something that initially worried Albus. His worries soon evaporated when his friendship with the Weasley boy kicked in, and he decided to invest more time in Quidditch and other mind-numbing activities. Now, the boy was nothing more than an average wizard: far too reliant on magic to truly question it's intricacies. The boy would never learn of the binds on his core, and the impromptu evacuation on the 31st of July to Hogwarts would allow Dumbledore to replace the binds. The boy was even unaware of the massive legacy that was his. Albus had control of his vaults, but it was only a cursory position. He had no desire to steal from a boy…such a crime had nothing to do with the greater good. In any case, Albus Dumbledore had no lack of money.

No, Harry Potter had a simple purpose to fulfill: he would be a martyr. He would die for the cause of the Light side, forever setting an example to Wizardkind. Of course, he would also take Voldemort with him, thus taking a small problem off Albus' hands. Dumbledore truly felt remorse for using the boy in such a barbaric manner, but it was the only way out. Voldemort had no less than fifty years of experience over Harry…fifty years of experience that was insurmountable to begin with, considering that the Dark Lord's sole opponent was a bespectacled fifteen year old. With Albus's idea in play, at the very least, all was not lost.

The news Snape had just brought was irritating. Of course, part of this irritation stemmed from having to decipher the irritable man's words as he foamed at the mouth in anger, shouting about the _"nerve of that little bastard, striking a teacher and threatening him!"_ Was it something to be worried about? Perhaps not…after all, being emotional was something Harry was famous for. Still, it was unwise to let this pass without scrutiny. The wand was necessary…a charm that Albus had recently found would make it possible for him to cast the power-binding spell from long distance, as long as the first half of the charm was already performed on the victim's wand. The loss of the cloak was regrettable, but it was far from crippling. A stern letter would probably bend the boy's determination, but it was wise to wait a while. Wallowing in his grief could cause the boy to lash out at him, damaging their relationship irrevocably. Perhaps two weeks in the company of the Metamorph would reduce his anger.

Blinking to clear his thoughts, Dumbledore returned to his glass of wine. Sampling the bouquet, he snapped his fingers, causing his House-Elf to return with the decanter and refill his glass. Reaching into his robes, he irritably drew his wand and cast a silencing charm on his robes. The House-Elves stitched into his clothes squealed at every opportunity, cringing in fear whenever his body shifted, fearful in anticipation of a blow to the head.

Waving the wand once more summoned a chessboard from the nearby cabinet. It landed on the small stool at his side neatly.

This was a game that had been going on for months. Three, to be precise, although he had not made a move in over a week. Each figure on the board was an ornate depiction of the members of the current war. The ivory pieces featured Dumbledore as both King and Queen, and Harry as one of the pawns. The other powerful figures consisted of Moody, Lupin, McGonagall and Shacklebolt, amongst others. The 'Dark Side' crafted exquisitely of ebony, had Voldemort as King and Queen. Malfoy and Bellatrix were his Bishops, the brothers Lestrange forming the Knights while Nott and Dolohov were his Rooks. Mucliber, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle and various others formed the Pawns. An appropriate evaluation of both sides of the war, at least in Dumbledore's estimation.

He pored over the chessboard, evaluating his next move. He, of course, played the white pieces, leaving the black ones to think for themselves. Of course, they were crafted with his own knowledge of chess, using strands of his memories, so they were equally skilled as he was.

At a loss, he whispered "King to B-1." Castling was his only way out of the check that was sure to come. Apparently, Harry Potter, at least in this representation, was going to take the fall sooner than expected, for the pawn representing him was now left open for the taking.

Things did not go as planned.

The pawn representing the Boy-Who-Lived suddenly straightened up, its former hunched posture disappearing. Turning, it took the place of the 'Dumbledore-King', wrenching the scepter, crown and cloak from it, donning them with practiced ease. Looking regal now, _it_ assumed Spot B-1, the Dumbledore figure becoming a pawn in the war, back hunched in submission.

There was a short cry as the sword swung through the air before everything settled. The Dark Lord Voldemort playing Queen had just decapitated Albus Dumbledore the pawn.

A scream of anger reverberated off the walls and roof of the room as the Chessboard was unceremoniously thrown to the ground.

* * *

Black and white pictures, moving, covered the wall. The room was dank and dusty, but it served her purposes. Each picture displayed the same person, a short, black-haired boy with vivid green eyes, a lightning-bolt shaped scar above his brow. 

Violet eyes gleamed with unrestrained anger as Bellatrix Lestrange, Deputy Scourge of the Magical World, glared at the pictures. Articles torn whole out of the Daily Prophet were tacked to the wall with sticking charms, some of the pictures expanded to life-size proportions. A veritable mural was plastered to the wall, each article and photo devoted to hounding one particular person...Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

The boy-_Harry!_-had bested her. Not really, but Bellatrix was far from one for specifics. All he had done was land a spell on her, no matter how ineffective it was. That, in itself, was a travesty…a prepubescent boy, from the looks of things, had managed to land a curse on _Bellatrix Lestrange!_ It was unheard of!

Her dueling skills more than matched the skill of Shacklebolt, Moody or Flitwick! She was a born duelist, naturally gifted with nimbleness and a strange ability to detect when she was under attack. No one had _ever_ got the drop on her, but a _child_ had come along and made a fool of her!

Then, the curse. The Cruciatus Curse, an Unforgivable in every Magical Country on Earth. The last…well, second-last…curse that anyone would expect from the wand of the Boy-Who-Lived. Yet, it had come. And she had felt it. The unimaginable pain…pain that matched the power of her Master's curses. But only for a second. She could feel his power flowing into her, stimulating pain into every nerve, but it had been cut off.

Her screams about 'righteous anger' had been correct in technical terms, but he _had_ cast the curse correctly. The pain, delicious as it was to her, had been unimaginably short, unsatisfying to her. He had terminated the curse of his own volition, but why? He had cast it beautifully, a perfectly woven spell that efficiently used the power behind it. Something did not match…and she would find out.

Lust glinted amongst the insanity and hate in her eyes as she thought _"No boy shall taunt me! I shall have him…and then, I shall kill him. The master be damned- he is mine!"_

Fourteen interminable years of suffering through the emotionlessness that Azkaban had gifted her had made her more than hungry for sensations…pain being the most delicious one she could imagine. Her Master had her allegiance, true, but insanity had crept through every crevasse in her splintered essence, perverting the devotion that she gave her Lord. Lord Voldemort would ahve to make do with the world...this was one battle he would not have a part in, if she had anything to say about it.

Harry Potter would be hers; to scream for and to die for.

* * *

Well...there you have it, folks.

This was a beast of a chapter to write, and i apologize for how long it took. Thanks for all the great reviews you people have given me, please know that they are most appreciated.

Note that Cho will NOT be a fuck-buddy...that was her impression in Chapter 1, but that changed, as you might have noted. Bigger space in his heart or not, Tonks and Cho will be equally important to Harry.

A point of notice: Credit is due to IP82. My beta reminded me of the scene in his fic that involves a chessboard. While i had forgotten about this, since i haven't read the fic since the last time it was updated 4 months ago, credit must still be give where it is due. So, the chessboard of the light and dark side idea came from IP82's fic Potter's Resistance I: Breaking Ties.

The next chapter will start two weeks from this one. It will basically be the starting point from where the Independant!Harry part of this story will actually take off.

Tell me what you think, people.

Cheers, and thanks for reading.

-Apocalypso


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry about the long wait. As you can see, i put more quantity into this. I have excuses, i swear! Exams, moving out of my dorm, writer's block...it's all there. Let me know what you think.

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Disclaimer: It seems i have been remiss in putting this little tidbit in. I own nothing. JK owns all. Peace.**

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**Chapter 5**

The rain dripped off the over hangings, the filthy awnings fashioned out of old rugs failing to keep the area dry. The pitter-patter of the raindrops on the awnings added a symphonic percussion to the sounds of the alley, the guttural shouts and grumbles coming together to form a militaristic drumbeat of noises. The sharp staccato of noises went unnoticed by those habituated to the environment, but caused some discomfort in those unconditioned to living in such an environment.

One would expect that a certain decorum would be in order, especially when attempting to sell items…but Gilmore Alley was not a place that catered to preferences. An Alley branching off from within the depths of Knocturn Alley, it had a singular purpose: smuggling. From the rich to the poor, all who frequented Gilmore Alley came to find illegal items at cheap prices. Prices were at an all-time low…bargaining was not worth the effort when all one could hope for was a few knuts knocked off the price of an item. Tight-fisted dealers baring snarling lips intimidated all that clamored for further reduction in price. It was futile; they would much rather kill you than lower the price by a handful of knuts.

Deep within the bowels of this very alley stood the symbol of the Light: Harry James Potter. Being a Metamorphmagus was an advantage for him, especially in this case. Unlike the others, he was free to make whatever threats he wished to.

His features changed, he now resembled one of the few people in the Wizarding World who was likely to receive special treatment in Gilmore Alley: Lord Voldemort. Of course, he was not impersonating the Dark Lord. Harry couldn't possibly carry the charming tone of voice while snarling simultaneously…it was an art that only Voldemort knew. But yet, his eyes gleamed, glinting a vicious red that showed the suppressed hate. His skin was pale, but not the waxy white hue that the skin of the Dark Lord was. A tall, imposing figure, he stood firm and resolute as people scurried around to satisfy him.

No, he was certainly not impersonating the Dark Lord. He had created an identity for himself…one that none of the Gilmore Alley residents would dare to call into question. He was the Heir of the Dark Lord, the son of Lord Voldemort.

The fools did not dare charge him for his 'purchases'…they valued their lives far more than the potions ingredients that the Lord's Heir demanded.

All others had been evacuated…the Heir of the Dark Lord was far more important to their businesses and to their lives, to be treated as just another customer. Explanations had been terse…a man had come, one of great power. One who could not be refused. He would be served alone. Protests had been quashed forcefully, a look of desperation on their faces as they tried to convey the dire nature of the circumstances. Flashes of red and green light had followed immediately after the arrival of the Heir…warnings were terse, and second warnings were more than unlikely. Persistence was dealt with harshly.

One approached, head bowed submissively. Drops of water streaked his face, hair sopping wet as it thrashed about in the strong gales that blew through the Alley. The workers watched, impressed, as the Heir of the Dark Lord stood resolutely, unwilling to bend before a force to puny as the wind. He seemed to be the one constant in the alley, the one being who did not move. All others scurried to avoid his wrath, fulfilling his orders almost before he carried them out.

Crouching down, the man spoke. The harsh, guttural tones of his Arabic ancestry perverted the polite, fearful tone of his speech. "My lord, your orders have been carried out. Your ingredients are ready for you to take."

The harsh, cold voice emerged as a haunting whisper. "You have done well, Salim. For your services," he said, his pale hand dropping a small bag of gold into the man's hand. Delight played across the man's features as he kneeled further in the mud, pressing kisses on the hem of the Heir's robes.

Before a second kiss could be applied, the Heir had swept away. His hand waved, causing the lid of the chest to lift. Unforgiving eyes traced over the contents of the chest. A satisfied nod caused a sigh of relief to circle through the edges of the alley, a hundred or so vendors all prostrated on the ground.

He resembled an idol…an altar at which the masses prayed. Their reverence was visible, the look of admiration plastered across each of their faces. One such as he could easily be taken as a god among people with such a lack of values and morality. It was a dog eat dog world in Gilmore Alley…competition did not exist, for it lead to homicide. The lesson had been learnt well; each vendor peddled his own wares, entirely unique in the alley. The presence of one so untouchable heightened the tense atmosphere. At once, admiration and excitement played upon the faces of the watchers; admiration for the position of the young Lord, and excitement as they dreamed of situations where they overcame the young Lord in a duel. Such situations existed only in dreams…it would, very literally, be suicide to attack the Heir of Lord Voldemort.

Harry, though outwardly sneering and self-assured, quailed on the inside. He was secure in his position, knowing that he was free form attack. But his passive legilimency was going haywire. With the hundreds of thoughts projected towards him, his mind was embroiled in a sea of uncertainty, torn between maintaining the sneering façade and exhibiting incredible paranoia. Half his mind was struck by the admiration of the vendors, but the other half was struck by the violent fantasies involving him dying gruesome deaths. It took every last measure of his control to keep his façade up and avoid having his eyes dart in every way. An experienced duelist, if he dared to come close enough to the 'Heir', would have literally smelled the fear emanating from Harry.

A second wave of the pale hand cause the chest to snap shut with a click, and lift off the ground to hover next to him. He turned, his posture more relaxed than it had been a minute ago. Still, sinewy muscles remained tense, prepared for an attack.

As he began to speak, a war cry was heard.

A man leapt, wand in hand. Two devastating words were on his lips.

A man fell, the flash of silver being missed by some.

Flagstones were blasted to rubble as the flash of green light missed the Heir by a foot.

Blood leaked on the ground, the morbid setting enhancing the quick, emotionless kill.

Red eyes glared at the fallen man. A simple word was spoken, one that would instill fear into the hearts of all those who heard.

"Beware."

And he was gone.

The vendors released held breaths, fear and admiration warring in their eyes as they regarded the fallen man. The one who had died…he was no pushover. An able Wizard, with experience in dueling. Yet, the Heir, ostensibly a teenager, had eviscerated him. Entirely unprepared, the Heir had still overcome his attacker in _one_ movement. Without magic. The blood seeped into the cracks of the stone, simply adding to the blood that had stained the flagstones of this alley over the centuries. The body was removed, two gobsmacked men carting the body of their fallen relative back to his wife.

Life returned to normal, though the shivers remained. The aura of intimidation had done its job.

Disgruntled customers streamed back into Gilmore Alley, their glances met by blank looks. A crook knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Harry Potter's escapade would forever remain unknown outside Gilmore Alley.

* * *

The old man tottered as he paced towards the front of the shop. Age had wearied his bones, making him vulnerable to even the slightest change in weather. This dreary wetness had renewed old aches, a damnable thing. He sank into the chair with a grateful sigh, gnarled cane now propped against the wall.

The bells tingled as the door opened, causing the old man to groan in annoyance. He had _just_ sat down! What injustice this was…but business was business, and he would eat well tonight if he sold something. With a heave, the old man rose to his feet.

His hand swiped out for the cane, but missed, and he tottered helplessly for a second, before falling in a graceless arc. As he was about to hit the floor, an impact that surely would have loosened a few bones, he felt a pair of hands grasp him by the shoulder. Slowly, they helped him back to his feet, the cane miraculously flying straight into his hand. Straightening himself, the old man turned gratefully.

"Thank you-?" he said, the question denoting his confusion as he could not place the face. It was odd to see new faces in a locale like this…not many knew of this shop, if it could be called that.

"Unnamed," said the man, his face shrouded by a thick cloak. Droplets of water still dripped from his cloak, making slight- no! The water seemed to drop off the hem of the man's cloak, but made no impact against the ground! Miraculous, the old man mused, with no small amount of wistfulness, what magic could do.

"Understandable," the old man said. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I was given to understand that you would be in possession of a few items that I am in need of. A Ritual Scalpel, for one, and a Trace Bowl." The voice was smooth and cultured…a pureblooded sort, for sure, but one with exquisitely crafted mannerisms. Every aspect of the man's posture screamed elegance, power and personality, but the quality of the cloak belied these evaluations. Useful, though it was, it was obvious that it was being employed to distract attention rather than attracting it.

The old man's eyes widened. Ritual magic? Of course…it was something common amongst the pureblooded families. But a Trace Bowl? The only known use for a Trace Bowl was in Blood Magic…an art that was lost, and banned. These days, they were simple mementos, and it _was_ possible that the customer simply wanted to buy one to serve exactly that purpose. But something informed him to the contrary. Perhaps it was that the young man wished to buy the two items together…an entirely innocent statement, at least in the circles that the old man used to frequent, but somehow loaded with innuendo.

"You know." It wasn't a question. The old man sounded accusing, yet inquisitive at the same time. Eyes curiously swept to and fro, attempting to take in each and every inch of the man's features. Immaculate could not describe the perfection of the way the customer had hidden his identity.

"I do," the man nodded. Diplomatic, concise…unforgiving. Shaking his head, the old man reached into the breast pocket of his robes, and withdrew a pair of spectacles. Half-moon spectacles: a mocking, yet self-depreciating tribute to the man who ruined his life. Settling them on the bridge of his nose, he peered at whatever he could see of the young man's features.

Red eyes...ones that told volumes about exactly what sort of person this was.

The old man made a noise of understanding, and led the customer towards the shelves.

"I wonder," he said, "how you learned of this establishment. I, of course, do not advertise myself, so I am led to believe that one of my previous customers led you here." It was not a statement, it was a question.

The customer's tone brooked no argument. "Curiosity is the fallibility of age, Sir."

Ouch. Harsh, but fair. It was true…the old man, cooped up in this dusty old shop, yearned for knowledge of the outside world. Of course, taking a step into Diagon Alley would lead to his immediate arrest.

Being Augustus Grindelwald, ex-Dark Lord, would do that to anyone.

And he was incapable of defending himself. That dashing, young Dumbledore fellow had somehow managed to rip his magic away from him. Bastard. A retreat to the family business had been his last recourse, one that he had settled into reluctantly. Save for this small room, his family business, loathe as he was to admit it, was a _Muggle_ book shop. This little room of nick-nacks hardly constituted a tenth of his shop. It had taken the use of a very valuable life-debt to have the room warded appropriately. He was not a Muggle, but neither was he a Squib…an unidentified entity somewhere on the fine line that separated one from the other. Luckily, anti-Muggle wards had not affected him, so he was free to enter this secluded area and sell parts of his collection of trinkets.

He had a very select clientele…a facet of his business more due to the fact that he had limited stock than the fact that he wished to evade Magical Authorities. Of course, no self-respecting pureblood, the only kind he catered to, would ever betray the location of such a treasure trove to Magical Authorities. He was safe in this location, one which was passed on between families only by word of mouth. Apparently, even the cruelest of hearts held some sympathy, for none of his customers had tried ever tried to betray him. Business with the magical folk had always been spotless…hardly even a squabble over prices.

Harry, still disguised in his 'Dark Lord Persona', found the location of the shop with ease. Draco Malfoy, ever the inquisitive little bugger, had eavesdropped on one of his father's floo chats. The address had come up, and a valuable little weapon was mentioned. Malfoy, ever hateful of Harry, had been thinking about using the weapon on Harry during one of their pleasant confrontations. Passive Legilimency, Harry decided, was a gift from god.

"Of course," he said pleasantly. "A hint, then? If you know who I am, then you must know that information is always greatly appreciated."

"Legilimency."

The old man's eyebrows rose comically. "A forbidden art. You dare to use my mind as a playground?"

"I do what I must. Besides, you were projecting thoughts like a muggle." An insult…to one such as him, the distinction created by the meager magical traces left inside him was a point of pride. Being called a muggle was a rather grievous insult.

Anger shone in the depths of the old man's eyes. "Perhaps your needs can be met elsewhere."

"Perhaps not…I desire quality, and I have no qualms against taking what I need." The statement was delicate…a threat neither veiled nor obvious. If the time for reflection was available, Harry would have realized the folly of his comparison. Why find a quarrel where one was not needed? This transaction could be completed with the barest of words, yet things had gone awry. Success or not, Lord Slytherin would be displeased.

"You underestimate me, boy. I am able to defend myself…like so," he spat, raising the cane and pressing a button cleverly hidden in the gnarled handle. A sharp pike exploded out of the end, flying right into the chest of the younger man.

And out the other side.

A gasp was heard as the young man merely blinked.

"An illusion. Excellent."

From the corner, Harry Potter gave a slight nod. Following the old man to the bookshelf had allowed him enough time to conjure an illusion to take his place. The shrouded face had made it easy to create the illusion…the movement of lips was unnecessary when the old man could not see them. A pre-emptive measure…a Dark Lord, albeit a former one, was still not to be trusted. The perversion of a Wizard's mind was not treated by healers…it was condemned by the all-too-famous Dementor's Kiss. It was best not to put any faith in the old man possessing even a shred of decency.

Still, Lord Slytherin would be displeased. _Stupid!_ _Don't attract attention!_

"Will you now lead me to the items I require? My time is precious, and this dusty shop, though interesting, is not sufficiently so to deserve my attention for much longer. And," he added delicately, "any further tomfoolery will be met with quite effectively."

Grindelwald bowed. "Of course." The cane carried another dart…one which could be used on his customer as soon as he could catch the intelligent young man unawares.

Harry sneered. "Must I repeat myself, you doddering old fool? Your mind is as easily legible as a book…make another move towards that cane, and I will cause you pain."

Chastised, Grindelwald tottered over to the register, pressing a button on the paneling. The bookcase lining the wall behind him gave way to show a small room.

"How cliché," Harry said in a bored tone.

"True…but Wizards have not the imagination to look for such obscenely muggle contraptions. Which, in fact, casts some light upon who you are."

"Are you prying? I, unlike you, am not without the means to remove such knowledge from your mind. In fact, _Obliviate!"_ A dazed look spread on the face of the old man.

"Awfully sorry, Sir. I seem to have forgotten what you were looking for…" he trailed off, uncertain.

Harry repeated his order, satisfaction heavily veiled in his tone. The old man nodded happily, reaching for the correct items, and laying out a selection for him to choose from.

He pored over the items, glaring at the ones that were obviously fake. The runes weren't even traced on one of them!

Finally finding a Trace Bowl that met his specifications, he pointed it out, and picked up one of the Ritual Scalpels. The latter was constructed exquisitely, the blade magically sharpened, and the long handle properly instilled with a collector stone. It would minimize the pain sufficiently; carving runes into one's body would inevitably lead to loss of blood, which, in turn, would lead to shaking hands - a blunder that could ruin everything, especially when runes had to be immaculate to avoid some rather colorful explosions of magic.

He dropped a bag of galleons on the table, the gold making a satisfying '_chink'_ as it impacted against the tabletop. The old man smiled genially, knowing that the gold was worth more than the items were.

"Thank you, kind sir. Oh…I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name; would you forgive an old man's mistake?"

The answer was given in a bemused tone, the younger man finding this second cliché too good to pass up. "No offense taken…I never gave it."

Ignoring Grindelwald, Harry pulled his cloak around him tighter, and prepared to apparate. Then, he paused.

Turning, he spoke with the slight ring of regret in his voice. "Apologies. _Diffindo._"

The Cutting Curse performed admirably. A thin red line appeared on the old man's throat, quickly oozing blood. With his jugular severed, the old man died quickly, his lack of physical fortitude forbidding him from fully removing the vial of healing potion from his pocket in time. A murderous expression still on his face, he died.

Harry sighed. Loose ends were dangerous, and an ex-Dark Lord with information was even worse. Extracting his wand, for he had not used it to cast the weak cutting curse, he waved it. The summoning spell revealed what he thought it would.

Three video cameras, torn wires protruding from them. Another wave of the wand elicited a few crashes from the depths of the shop. In seconds, a video tape flew into Harry's hands. Well…the tape came, the recording device still wrapped around it and sparking. The magically crippled Dark Lord apparently knew the wisdom of turning to Muggle devices where he could not aid himself.

He ducked, thanking the deities for his reflexes, and watched with some satisfaction as the recorder flew straight into the shelf of fake trace bowls, shattering them in a rather just manner. Waving his wand, he muttered _"Evanesco."_ The vanishing spell did its job, causing the cameras and the tape-containing recording device to disappear.

Lastly, the wand was waved again, lips whispering _"Revealo."_

A slight haze of blue shimmered in the air. All clear…no magical recording devices in the wards or the surroundings. The _accio_ spell, in the hands of an Occlumens, was a very useful tool. Bill Weasley, on his Gringotts excavation trips, could simply use it to summon all valuables from the pyramids. Sure, they would break as they flew through walls, but magic had a three-syllable remedy for that. Too bad he wasn't an Occlumens.

His eyes fell to the corpse on the ground. Slight grief shone in the depths of his eyes. It was both an unnecessary, and a necessary kill. Such an…emotionless reaction was not something expected form the Golden Boy, but Salazar had done his job. He had inured the boy to death. After all, when facing the Death Eaters, an attack of grief in the middle of a fight would certainly cause his death. Afterwards, time could be spared to reflect on the murder he had committed.

He consoled himself. This was his first kill, at least his first _human_ kill. Innumerable rats, monkeys and other transfigured animals had died at his hand. _'He deserved to die, anyways," _his mind reasoned, _'I simply did what Dumbledore could not."_

With that, he was gone, a slight pop announcing his departure.

* * *

White marble gleamed with the taste of opulence, a sharp contrast to the dreary setting of Diagon Alley. Where the rest of the alley was deserted, people feeling for shelter due to the gales of wind and the torrential downpour, Gringotts stood strong and beautiful. Goblin guards, helmed in thick iron, guarded the gates to the bank, pikes crossed menacingly, barring wrongdoers entry into the Goblin stronghold.

Red eyes blinked a few times as their color changed, dissolving into a powerful emerald green. Pasty white skin slowly gained color and texture, once again looking human. The reptilian features softened in places and morphed into human features, once again restoring the persona of Harry James Potter to the young man. Within the hood of the thick cloak, Harry Potter's eyes seemed like searchlights, roving to and fro as they regarded all that could be seen. In the distance, two Aurors patrolled the Alley, looking particularly impotent in their quest to 'defend' the Alley.

What stupidity, Harry mused. The Dark Lord had better things to do than to attack a place where Purebloods were as common as muggleborns. At least, he hoped, Fudge would have had the sense to install more security in places such as Hogsmeade and Godric's Hollow. Such locales were mostly populated by lesser Purebloods and mixed-bloods, a far more worthy target for the ire of someone as calculating and powerful as Lord Voldemort.

With purpose evident in his mannerisms and gait, he stalked up to the large doors, ignoring the gilded gold that lined the walls in a manner more ostentatious than simply opulent. The Goblins shrank away under his gaze, making him wonder what pitiful resistance such purportedly 'fierce' creatures would give to one as charismatic and intimidating as the Dark Lord. A wave of his hands caused the doors to open, startling the Goblin Guards. Wandless magic, even at this low level, was something heavily uncommon amongst humans. Goblins, while capable of it on a higher level, were far from powerful, thus the emphasis on weapons rather than magic.

It was a source of guilt for him…well, correctly speaking, _they_ were a source of guilt for him. While House-Elves, uppity Centaurs, Half-Giants and Merfolk alike were rather tolerable in Harry's book, he had a strange, unexplainable dislike for Goblins. Avoiding the understatement, it was more appropriate to term his dislike for Goblins as a vehement distaste. Perhaps it was their tight-fisted, gold-digging natures…perhaps it was simply their appearance, but Harry Potter, Symbol of the Light, could not stand Goblins at all.

He utterly hated them

He strode in, not particularly concerned with the look of interest on the Guards' faces, as they thought in vain for a way to somehow make money off him. Striding up to a teller, he paused.

In typical Goblin fashion, the teller paid him no interest, continuing to scrawl numbers down on the roll of parchment before him. He cleared his throat, invoking no reaction.

Perhaps it was the fact that he had, no less than a minute ago, been impersonating a Wizard corrupted by Dark Magic, for he felt anger well up within him.

Snapping the words, he said "Goblin! Cease your irritating games…I assure you my business here is far more valuable than whatever garbage you are dealing with."

The Goblin snapped to attention, immediately realizing that this was a customer who meant business. In a sickly sweet voice, he asked "What can Gringotts do for you today?"

"Direct me to the office of Curledtoe."

"Oh, is that all?" the Goblin asked, humor evident in his bored tone. Simple people asking to see the Head of Gringotts? A laughable prospect.

Leaning in, Harry smirked. "There are things that you should not worry yourself with, Goblin. I assure you, this meeting can either mean profit for Gringotts, or further devastation for the Goblins as a whole. Do not venture into places where you are ignorant of things."

Raising an eyebrow, the Goblin asked "And what do I stand to gain for allowing you this favor?"

The smirk widened. "Your life, Goblin."

Dirty yellow eyes widened. "You assume that you could even dream of killing a Goblin within the confines of Gringotts? A laughable idea, human."

"In fact, Goblin, if I leave Gringotts today without the blood of a Goblin on my hands, I shall be sorely disappointed." The yellow eyes widened further, some amount of fear settling in…much to Harry's satisfaction.

"I understand. I cannot allow you to meet the Director without knowing your identity." Slight tremors in the Goblin's voice made his fear evident.

"Potter, Harry Potter." Another opportunity too good to pass up…after all, if clichés were the flavor of the day, why not set a new trend?

The Goblin laughed. "Something believable, human."

Emerald eyes that promised suffering stared into the yellow ones of the Goblin. "Are you accusing me of lying?" The threat wasn't vocalized, but it was more than obvious. His scar, a scant two inches above his eyes, was veiled by the wet hair plastered to his forehead.

The bloody _Goblin_ wasn't going to have his way here. There was no way he would _willfully_ bare his scar to the creature. It was a matter of principle to Harry. In a few weeks, that scar would be like a museum exhibit, displayed for the world to see and judge him by. The human world. This puny Goblin could verify Harry's identity in some other manner than a simple glance at an easily faked scar.

The Goblin, now scared that _his_ blood might eventually end up staining the human's robes, quailed as he murmured "Very well. Follow me."

Harry, satisfied, gave a curt nod, and followed the Goblin through a maze of hallways, each more opulent than the last. The gold seemed to overflow the deeper they reached within the bowels of Gringotts, gilding the walls, the frames of the portraits, and eventually being crafted into exorbitantly large statues of haughty looking Goblins.

Eventually, they reached a door made out of solid gold. The Goblin leading him paused. "Wait here, please."

Nervously, the Goblin opened the door, just in time for a gout of blood to splash across his face. Harry sneered in distaste. Looking beyond the opened door and the Goblin's shocked face revealed the source of the blood.

A pompous looking Goblin gurgled a few times before falling face-first onto the floor. Applause rang through the assembled crowd inside, providing an answer as to why the bank seemed so deserted. Apparently, Goblins were rather like werewolves…they fought for leadership like savages. A fitting description, no matter how obnoxious it would sound coming from the lips of the Savior of the Light.

Curledtoe, bearing a few gashes on his arms and torso, stood, blood staining his teeth as he bared them in a savage grin. A demure Goblin woman, judging by the misshapen lumps on the front of her armor, stepped up, bearing a tray covered in potions vials. Curledtoe selected a few of them, apparently a blood restorative, a bruise-medicating potion, and a minor healing draught, and tipped them down his throat. Hawking up a gob of red spit, he spat on the body of his challenger, eliciting yet another roar of approval.

The distaste never left Harry's face as he regarded the action. Desecrating the bodies of the fallen was, though exciting during the moment, something that detracted from the honor of the kill. Apparently, though, it was a mark of _honor_ in Goblin customs. Disgusting.

Burping, a perplexing action that drew yet another round of applause, Curledtoe glared at Harry, and then at the Goblin that brought him in. In a flurry of furious words, the Director castigated the teller, who bowed in fear. The sound of Gobbledygook was particularly displeasing to Harry's ears, but he kept a straight face, matching the glare for its intensity.

In stuttering words, simply prolonging the torture of Harry's ears, the teller told Curledtoe exactly what had happened. The Goblin leader's eyes widened in anger, his teeth settling into a snarl of rather vicious proportions. Then, Harry's name came up. The snarl disappeared, replaced for a moment by a look of confusion until a deadly smirk settled on the Goblin's face.

Turning to Harry, Curledtoe said "Come in." His English was thick with an accent that made it sound remarkably like Gobbledygook, making Harry wince inwardly as he pondered the torture that a simple conversation would affect on his ears.

He strode in haughtily, acting every bit the perfect Pureblood, looking down his nose at each of the creatures assembled inside the vast room. Turning, Curledtoe barked out an order, causing all the assembled Goblins to rise at once and file out of the room. As they shuffled away, Harry's hand darted out, catching one Goblin by the throat and lifting him into the air such that his feet kicked helplessly. For all the armor, the creature still weighed just a little more than a few house-elves would.

At once, the Goblins pulled out various sharp objects, brandishing them threateningly at Harry. Harry simply met their threatening looks with a sneer, looking particularly unconcerned about the sudden change in tension. Curledtoe looked at him appraisingly, Harry meeting the look firmly. The resolution in his gaze convinced the Goblin leader, who barked out a laugh in a rather animalistic way.

Waving his hand dismissively, he ushered the others out of the room, calling for two guards to stand by the door. The teller, face still slicked in blood, bowed his way out of the room, relief strangely apparent on the creatures face. It was odd how Harry was able to discern emotions on the features of one so obviously not human, but he shrugged it off, attributing it to some oddity in his passive legilimency. Interpretation, after all, was dependant on perception.

Curledtoe motioned towards a desk in the far corner of the room. Harry took a step to walk towards it, but was caught unawares when the table, the rug it stood on, and assorted knick-knacks all dragged themselves across the cavernous room and settled a few feet from them. Looking unconcerned, he managed to avoid faltering in his step due to the sudden movement, and somehow made the whole action look seamless, as if he wasn't surprised at all.

Curledtoe barked another savage laugh, saying "You hide it well, human. The best I've seen yet, really. Take a seat, my guards will restrain the one you hold."

Shrugging, Harry carelessly threw the aforementioned Goblin on the floor in a heap, the two guards shuffling forward brutishly to grab and restrain it.

Satisfied, Harry turned to Curledtoe. "You know exactly why I am here. This is not the time for games."

A nod. "I do. Where do we go from here?" He was trying to raise Harry's ire, playing games that the young Wizard had just expressed his impatience for.

"I will not repeat myself, Curledtoe. I demand vengeance upon Griphook for violating the terms of his contract with my **_F_**amily."

Ouch. Score: Harry – 1, Goblin – 0. Chastising the Head of Gringotts was not usually conducive to business, but then again, playing games with an easily irritable Harry Potter was not good for one's health, especially if one is a Goblin.

"The use of capitalization is duly noted, Heir of Potter." Once again, the smirk made an appearance. "I shall acquiesce…you have found me at a good time. My geniality is always at its greatest after a successful fight. You will have a chance at revenge…but on equal terms. A fight to the death; a contract signed and countersigned to avoid reprisals on Gringotts by your fawning supporters amongst the Wizards."

Despite the thick accent, it seemed, Curledtoe had a level of prolixity generally unmatched by the dolts at Hogwarts.

The Goblin Griphook, formerly thrashing in the arms of the guards, now went rigid as a deadly smirk crossed his face. This would be easy, and a victory would certainly erase all his wrongdoings in the eyes of the Director.

"Of course. Terms?" asked Harry, his tone as neutral as ever. Griphook was confused…the boy, barely nascent in his magical education, could not honestly hope to have a chance, could he?

A gleam in his eye, Curledtoe replied, "Physical, no magic except for that imbued in weaponry. Now, is this acceptable?"

Griphook's eyes gleamed brighter than they ever had before…killing a human had always been a dream of his, after hearing of the tales of his Grandfather, who had fought against the Wizards in the last rebellion, killing more than a simple few. Bloodlust showed in the pits of his yellow eyes, the Goblin almost frothing at the mouth with the prospect of killing a Wizard without fear of reprisal.

"It is. You realize, of course, that any future rubbish along the lines of this _fight,"_ the word was sneered, "will be met with harshly. A Wizard of my status can hardly be expected to fight for the right to access his Vaults. I have little patience for your games, Curledtoe…and I will modestly claim to carry more weight within the Wizarding World than Gringotts does. I agree to this farce of a settlement only because nothing would make me happier than to cleave this Goblin's head off."

"Was that a threat, Lord Potter?" the Goblin asked.

Harry nodded, smirking. "Indeed. You need me _far_ more than I need you, Curledtoe. You might throw a fit and leave me wanting, but it will only delay my work. I'm rather sure that the Boy-Who-Lived, redeemed as I am in the eyes of the media, currently carries rather weighty support. You would not want to deny a Lord his right, would you, Curledtoe?"

All through, his smirk was pleasant, though the dangerous undertone was more than obvious to the Goblin.

"Of course not, Lord Potter," Curledtoe said, a smirk on his face. They understood each other perfectly. While the Goblin Chieftain had sought to receive some amusement from the fight, he knew that the human before

I must, however, ask you to provide me with suitable weapons."

The daggers he currently carried were ordinary, save for a slight strengthening charm placed on the blade. He was far from qualified in enchanting objects as of yet, what with the immense exhaustion coming from even a simple levitating enchantment. His theory, of course, was spotless. His daggers would not stand up to the fortified weapons of the Goblins…the strengthening enchantment would bend and break under the force of the Goblin weapons.

Confusion. _'Disregard it!'_ Griphook commanded himself, _'The boy seeks to intimidate you! A false hope…he shall die at my hands, his blood staining my teeth!'_

Curledtoe grinned. "I can provide you with weaponry. Your weapon of choice?"

"Long daggers. Two of them." For the first time, Griphook noted the similar gleam in Harry's eyes.

Grinning, Curledtoe snapped his fingers, shouting out something in Gobbledygook. A moment later, the doors were thrown open, two Goblins scurrying in with a large chest held up in the air. Why they didn't levitate it, Harry would never understand. Gingerly, they opened the chest, removing a felt covering. Below lay jewel-bedecked daggers, varying in sizes. Looking at them, Harry grimaced openly, disgusted at the obvious opulence of weapons that were purely ornamental.

Rummaging through the chest for a few seconds, he finally straightened, bearing a pair of plain daggers. They were about eighteen inches long, simply crafted, with a seaweed-like twine wrapped around the handles. Although he couldn't identify the enchantments on the blades, he knew that they were strong. From the enchantments on his own daggers, he noted the presence of a powerful strengthening charm…rather adequate for his needs.

Curledtoe grinned again, pleased by Harry's choice. "Simple and straightforward. Very good, but for your sake, I certainly hope you know how to use them. The enchantments are rather….responsive."

A wave of his hand sent the two Goblins scurrying away.

"And now, the contract." Expectantly, Harry looked at it. It was simple and straightforward, nothing written in fine print. Waving his wand over it, he cast a spell to reveal any hidden writings. The search revealed nothing, and he signed it. The quill jabbed into his finger, blood flowing freely onto the parchment as he signed his name.

Griphook obediently bowed in subservience, respectfully avoiding an overt examination of the contract before signing it…it would not do to show suspicion of the Leader of the Goblin Nation.

Curledtoe nodded in a satisfied manner, tossing the parchment onto his desk. Turning back to the prospective combatants, he grinned sadistically. Clapping his hands, the blood from his own altercation still evident on his clothes and teeth, he said "Let the games begin!"

What a joke. A Goblin, of all things, knowledgeable about ancient Muggle traditions?

Harry shrugged the cloak off, a smirk on his face as Griphook caught sight of the two sheathed blades hidden within its folds.

Taking a relaxed stance, he held the blade in his right hand upwards, the other with the blade emerging from the bottom of his fist. Cocking an eyebrow at Griphook's choice of weapon, a sword nearly as large as he was tall, he readied himself for his first true physical duel.

Granted, he had experienced all that Salazar could, quite literally, throw at him with the limited magic he could cast from within the portrait, but as his Master said, there was no substitute for the real thing.

A war cry rang out in the air as Griphook charged, wielding his sword with some manner of grace. With his left blade, Harry deflected the blow to the side, spinning at the same time. His right hand flipped the blade around as he spun, and in a stabbing motion, he slammed the blade downwards. The Goblin was unfortunately able to dodge, but received a gash on the forearm regardless of his efforts.

Seething, Griphook approached, this time in a more restrained manner. Harry feinted forwards, pushing the Goblin on the defensive, and then attacked, swinging gracefully. He batted the sword sideways as it came, and on its return, formed his blades into an X-shape, capturing the downward swing between the blades. With a heave, he pushed Griphook backwards, lashing out with his foot and hitting the Goblin's wrist. The sword wasn't knocked out of the Goblin's hand, but it loosened the grip.

Beads of sweat accumulated on Griphook's brow as he panicked; he was far from a true warrior. His strengths lay in accounting, as it had always been in his family, with the exception of his warrior Grandfather. Still, he fought on, to save his honor, and to save his life.

The Potter accounts had been managed by his family for over two centuries, and the post had been filled faithfully, until Griphook came. With a devious mind, he had capitulated on the demise of the elder Potters, and had almost frozen the accounts. Siphoning off a percentage of the returns from investment of Potter money, he fell into cahoots with Albus Dumbledore. He found it odd that the old man had vehemently refused to steal from the boy, but had attributed it to a 'human thing'. On Dumbledore's orders, he had purposely neglected to inform the Potter Heir of his status, thus making it easier for Dumbledore to control the boy.

Now, he was paying for his wrongs.

Desperately, he swung the sword, aiming to cleave the Potter Heir in half, the blade swooping towards the boy's abdomen. Due to his height, it was impossible for the boy to duck under a blow like that…Griphook was shocked when his opponent displayed great agility, leaping _over_ the blade as it swung, and landing on one foot, still carrying his momentum. He pivoted, his elevated, boot-clad foot lashing out one final time to knock the great sword from the Goblin's hands entirely. With one graceful move, the spin was completed, the reversed blade in the human's right hand swinging down hard as he crouched down on one knee, embedding the sharp point of the blade through the Goblin's ear.

Drool dribbled out of Griphook's mouth as he died instantly, the slim, long blade of the dagger going in through one ear and coming out the other, cleanly slicing through his brain. A small torrent of blood erupted from the creature's ears, trailing down his neck and under the armor.

With a sharp noise, the blade was extracted, allowing blood to flow freely as Griphook collapsed; the only thing holding him up was the force of Harry's blade being extended through his skull.

Applause was heard as Harry turned, flipping the blades around to hold them upright. Curledtoe still bore his grin, although the blood that had stained his teeth had mysteriously disappeared. Harry didn't even want to imagine where it had gone…certain images were best left alone.

A Goblin eyebrow was raised, the expression only increasing the savagery of Curledtoe's expression. It was expectant…the Goblin leader was waiting for something.

Ah.

Irritably, Harry turned around, and spat, the gob of saliva landing squarely on Griphook's forehead. The applause came again, the two trollish guards joining in eagerly.

'_What disgusting, simple creatures…' _Oops…guilt, again.

Tossing the two blades onto the table, flecks of blood flying off them to stain the finish, Harry took a seat.

"Impressive. I wonder who taught you to wield daggers like that," Curledtoe said, expecting an answer. He was satisfied, if not by the answer, then by the terse reply, brooking no further tomfoolery on the Goblin's part.

"Keep wondering."

Curledtoe grinned as Harry continued, "Now, about my vaults. You will lease them to me immediately. I claim Right of Heir on the Potter, Black and Crowen Vaults."

Curledtoe inclined his head in agreement. He sat forward, waving a hand at the two guards, who dragged Griphook's body out with them as they exited. The motion caused the gob of Harry's saliva to streak on Griphook's forehead, making Harry thankful that it wasn't attached to his tongue any more.

Reaching into his cloak, Harry removed a scroll of parchment. Silently, he pushed it across the desk towards Curledtoe, his other hand nudging the quill.

Raising an eyebrow, Curledtoe lifted the scroll, opened the seal, and began reading. Harry watched as a look of concentration appeared on the Goblin's face, finally replaced by some frustration.

"You wrote this well, Lord Potter. There are no points that I can exploit."

"Of course," Harry drawled, "that would be the general point, wouldn't it."

"Very well," Curledtoe said, "if you require an Oath of Silence, you shall have it." Reaching for the quill, he signed the parchment, his blood once again coming out as a nasty shade of green. The parchment glowed blue for a second, before reverting to the drab beige that it used to be.

"Good. I have found Gringotts' service to be rather lacking. While my Vaults will remain here, out of convenience and adherence to tradition, they will no longer be managed by Goblins. Within a few weeks, I will appoint a manager for my vaults, and inform you of his identity in person. Now, we must talk numbers," he said, ignoring the slight shock on Curledtoe's face.

After all, the loss of money paid to the Vault manager was considerable, since it _was_ the Potter and Black Vaults in question.

"Understood. I daresay that I cannot persuade you to change your mind. What numbers do you refer to?" The harsh accent seemed much less emphasized now, Harry noticed with some relief. He made a mental note to try and shock Goblins in future conversations; it would be better for his ears.

"I do not require official emancipation. However, you will make available to me the Family Rings that I control. Also, I desire that Dumbledore be kept out of the loop. I understand that he has some way of checking on my accounts. If he checks, or if you are due to send him a Bank Statement, you will fabricate it to show that no withdrawals have been made from the Potter vaults. On the 31st of July, next weekend, you will personally hand me a comprehensive statement of all my holdings: Investments, stock, real estate, heirlooms, everything. Clear?"

The Goblin nodded slowly, and then once again, in a more assured fashion. "There will be a problem."

"Oh? Do elaborate."

"The Black Vault…your claim _will_ be contested. Narcissa Malfoy has greater claim on it than you do, since she is a Black by blood and magic. The fact that she is pureblooded while you are not will also count against you. The will reading has been scheduled for the 5th of August, at 2:00 PM. Of course, since it is the will reading of a Family as important as the Blacks, it will be done at the Wizengamot itself, immediately prior to the first Convention in August. If your claim is contested, it will be done then. Until that date, you cannot take the Black Ring."

"Leave that to me. Any issues concerning the Crowen vault?"

"No. As a Potter, you have claim on the Crowen vault regardless of magical or blood ties to the family."

"How so?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised.

"In the late 12th Century, the Crowen Family swore fealty to the Potter line. Without a living Heir, the Potter family controls their vault. It should not matter…the vault is meager compared to the Potter one."

"Be advised that a test of Blood Purity will be required, so you may take the money from the Potter Vault to buy the ingredients and prepare the potion. This can be done on the day of the will reading itself, to prove my claims. The Family Rings should attest to what my lineage is in a manner sufficient for the Wizengamot."

Curledtoe nodded. "Very well. You ask a lot of me, Lord Potter…"

"Oh. I must have forgot," Harry said, looking anything but embarrassed or forgetful, "you may, for the next three months, take an extra 2 percent of the returns from investment on the Potter Vault."

"Make it 10 percent, and you have a deal," Curledtoe said, eyes gleaming.

Delicately, Harry studied his fingernails. "I was under the impression that you were aware that I get irritated by your games. I have hardly asked you for anything too strenuous to accomplish without the added 2 percent. Perhaps, Curledtoe, you forget that Griphook helped himself to my money for years? That money is not recoverable, so my offer of any bonus at all is being rather generous."

Curledtoe shook his head. "Of course, Lord Potter. Very well."

* * *

Harry Potter left Gringotts Bank as a satisfied man. In his possession was a rosewood box containing the Family rings of Potter and Crowen. The next two weeks would be absolute hell. Preparations had to be done, for power would not shift its balance so easily.

* * *

Love.

What was it? A question to muse upon…one that the raven-haired young woman had been forced to consider recently.

The Wizarding World was rather stagnant in its beliefs. Over thousands of years, change had taken place so slowly that it was almost redundant by the time such change took place. Women, ones as beautiful, skilled and intelligent as her, were a commodity. In her world, they were traded; a means of ensuring allegiances that could never be set in stone, but simply reaffirmed to some extent.

Of course, apart from her beauty, none of her other qualities were actually worth that much on the 'market', as it were. They were simply regarded as additions…a wife who could think for herself, and make decisions for the benefit of the family. Once married, she would fill a role that made her rather useless…a trophy to be displayed at society parties, beauty that could be bragged about.

But then a similarly dark-haired young man had come along, turning everything she had dreaded on its head. He was, to be extremely clichéd, her Knight in Shining Armor. And she had fallen in love, painfully deep love, pledging herself to him in mind, body and soul. She would not be his servant, she would be an equal…she would have the opportunity to exhibit each and every one of her qualities and skills. He had an agenda, she knew, but he would not tell her what it was until the time was right.

He made her learn, teaching her skills that had been largely disregarded over time. He taught her to protect her mind, and with her typical Ravenclaw attitude, she had taken it as yet another challenge, slowly but surely approaching the point where he could trust her with each and every secret.

But now things were falling apart. Her dream, to love and marry this man, to take part in his battles as he took part in hers…it was being endangered. By none other than her parents.

A marriage proposal had come by mail, not three hours ago. The second one this week. The first had been from a family in China. It had been rejected forthwith…her Family, old as it was, had made a conscious effort in leaving the depravity that had taken their homeland. Tying their only daughter to such an oppressive society had been blasphemy for them, thus the rejection. But the second was from a well known family in England.

The Malfoys.

She had been shocked, but rationality, ever present in her mind, had held its own. The little snot, ever hateful of her beloved, wanted her. It was a simple means of revenge for him…to be able to walk into Hogwarts on September 1st, her arm linked in his. It would be a slap in the face, a just reply for the imprisonment of his father.

The proposal, though unsettling, was not what had shocked her. It was the fact that her parents were seriously considering it that stunned her. She had, with perfect control over her emotions, pointed out that Malfoy Senior had just been sent to Azkaban. Her parents had nodded pensively, but come to the conclusion that an alliance with a Family such as the Malfoys, regardless of their allegiances, was beneficial at this time. The Dark Lord had returned, and he would certainly bring grief to all those that opposed him. Luckily, none of the Changs were of any use to him, the parents being too old to join the Death Eaters. Their oldest son currently worked in South America as a Curse-Breaker leading an expedition. Marrying Cho to the Malfoy boy, at the very least, would insure that there were no attacks on their family.

The Changs were a well-off family, but not particularly rich. Their trade had never been firm, as each generation possessed entirely different skills compared to the last. Their son was a perfect example, far from the Ministry quill-pusher that his father was.

Cho, ever a rational woman, had simply nodded.

"_All I ask is for you to give me two days. Once those two days are up, if I haven't convinced you otherwise, you may promise me to anyone you desire."_

And she returned to her room. Alone in her room, she allowed her fears to come to the forefront of her mind. The contract was disgusting…it demanded a large dowry, yet another abhorrent practice, and quite unequivocally stated that Cho would fill the role of a lesser wife, despite the Malfoys having Lordship over only one Family. She would end up as nothing but a concubine…a piece of flesh for that rat Draco to work his frustrations out on when his whore, Pansy, was unresponsive.

Harsh? Of course…but it _was_ a fair description of the situation. Modesty aside, Cho knew she was far better looking than the whore Draco had already been promised to. While Parkinson would fill the role of the high-society wife, Cho would be relegated to the bedroom as a form of amusement for the two of them. Disgusting.

A lesser wife…a title that she had already been prepared to accept, as long as the husband was Harry Potter. She was far from deluded…her convictions had always served her well, and they told her that he was meant for another. A large part of him belonged to her, she knew, but a larger part belonged to someone else.

She tried to distract herself, attempting to put faith in Harry. As much as she wanted to believe that he could solve this problem with a snap of his fingers, seventeen years of life with her parents had taught her to never underestimate her father. The man was convicted beyond reasoning, and it would take a lot to change his mind. Calling on her friends was impossible. Marietta was working in the Ministry over the summer, but she had become introverted after the 'sneak' episode. It was somewhat relieving to Cho, as she no longer had to endure Marietta's screeching voice as she complained about everything. At the very least, being with Harry had matured her even more; she had noticed an increasing dislike for the vapid conversation that her friends indulged in. While she, too, had been guilty of that to some extent in previous years, she found some of the comments they made to be entirely useless. Justine Bauer, her roommate at Hogwarts, was in Egypt this summer, and the last of her good friends, Sonya Parks, had the flu.

Not convenient at all, as she had nothing to distract her.

As night fell, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was now safe to make the call that she had to. Her hands unclasped, revealing the hand-mirror that had been encased in her soft grip. A slight smile crossed her face as she remembered the events leading up to the presentation of this mirror to her. She had frankly been surprised that Harry could be so romantic. Rose petals and – NO!

Digressing into her thoughts was an activity for another, more relaxed time.

"Harry Potter." The words were whispered hauntingly, her despair evident in the muted speech.

The image swam for a second, now reflecting the smiling face of her lover rather than her own, saddened reflection.

"Sweetheart, what happened?" asked the concerned voice of her lover, his smile evaporating immediately. It had been two days since they had last spoken.

Steadfastly centering her emotions, she smiled back at him. She conveyed the whole story to him, guiltily enjoying the look of possessiveness that simply increased as Malfoy's name came up.

"Alright. Wave the mirror around slowly, so I can see what the room looks like. I'll be with you in a minute." She did as he asked, anticipation swirling in her loins.

He cut the connection on the mirror with a whispered _"Finite."_ True to his word, he arrived there within a minute, having dashed out of his house and created the portkey.

In his hands was a rosewood box, the crest of Gringotts engraved into the lid in an artistic manner.

The contents of that box would decide Cho's future.

* * *

Tonks, having heard the explanation, watched sadly as he left. He was lost to her, she felt…with determination and love so great for another, there was no hope for her. She was far from the sort of person to be cruel and seduce Harry…she could not do that to Cho, having been her housemate for two years. In any case, Harry would not fall for something like that.

She should have expected that Harry, with all his secrets, and with all his qualities, would not be single. She had not bothered to ask. Finding out, two days after she had begun living with him had been a shock, but her feelings had not been as deep then as they were now.

Seduction had never been something she was interested in, but a sizeable part of her now wished that she had seduced Harry the previous summer. After spending two and a half full weeks with him, a rather short time if she was honest, she could honestly say that it was not simple infatuation that she felt for the emerald-eyed young man. She had both love and lust for him in great proportions…a perfect recipe for a beautiful relationship. And she had hoped for the best, seeing their relationship develop over the past two weeks.

It was an intimacy of a different kind, a relationship on a different level that they shared. He told her about his life, revealing the hardships and the abuse that he had weathered, while she poured out her soul to him at night, sobbing desperately into his chest as he held her. Her nightmares had persisted for two years, witnessing a graphic near-death experience during Auror Training being the root cause of her problem, a source of great shame to the happy-go-lucky, yet hardy Auror. But while he held her, her fears evaporated, leaving her liberated and at peace. It was a friendship that they had moved to an extremely deep level, one that she was reluctant to damage in any way. She didn't want to jeopardize their friendship, not when it was beginning to mean this much to her. From the second she had seen him the day he got back to Privet Drive until now, she had had to keep her occlumency shields at maximum strength at all times. She would not put passive legilimency past him, seeing his skill with Occlumency, and some of her thoughts concerning him…they were rather explicit. It wasn't particularly taxing to do, but it was irritating having to fortify ones shield all the time. She sympathized with Harry on that point, for he had to constantly maintain his shields to keep Voldemort out. The Dark Lord had begun striking out at his shields within a week of the altercation at the Ministry.

He was an incredibly quick learner as well, she found, as he managed to swim through Metamorphmagus training easily. At the rate he was going, he would be able to reach her level within six to eight months, a rather remarkable feat. Admittedly, his previous knowledge of Occlumency was a certain benefit, but he still had extraordinary skill at it. Currently, he was able to change every feature on his body, some which she had to take his word for, and do them within an hour and forty minutes. Since holding one's change was not an issue, Metamorphmagi were rated in proficiency by measuring the time taken to maximize the size of their bodies. This meant that at the end of the process, a Metamorph would look rather like a Giant, albeit with properly proportioned features rahter than the blunt, murderous ones on the faces of most Giants. Harry had, at this point, managed to incorporate every last ounce of magic in the second core within a time that was remarkably fast for how long he had been learning. Tonks, on the other hand, could do it in nine minutes.

She sighed sadly. She had hoped that she could, someday, be loved by him.

NO! Giving up was not an option, the rational part of her mind screamed. He meant too much to her to simply give him up without a fight, regardless of what her nature was.

At times, the best motto was _'Fuck everyone. I come first.'_

Despair gave way to yearning, as the young Auror swore to herself, possessiveness glinting in her eyes, that Harry Potter would be hers. It was not in her nature to seduce a man…but somehow, this was different.

Seduction or not, she _would_ make sure he loved her as much as she loved him. She did not want to fake the love; using love potions or some such thing would leave her feeling hollow, she felt.

No, this would be about seduction.

* * *

A small swirl of blue light heralded Harry's appearance into Cho's room. Immediately, he swept her into a hug, relishing the familiar contact once more. She let her despair show, but held her tears, her strength of mind coming through.

She had faith in him…he would help her out of this mess. He, it seemed, never failed to do things right when it came to their relationship. Her previous worries melted away as she indulged in his embrace.

His lips found hers, the kiss both passionate and loving. She swooned in his arms, indulging in the security of his grasp as they kissed. When he withdrew, leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered "Well, that felt familiar."

She smiled, pecking his lips.

Then, he pulled away, grabbing her hand tightly. His features hardened as he seemed to grow in power and stature, his stance at once powerful and self-assured. Without that band in the way, he looked positively regal, filling the robes deliciously. After all, while being as intimate as they had been, it was rather hard for her to fail to notice the band. Being a Ravenclaw, she had surmised the rough meaning of some of the runes immediately, giving her a vague idea of what it was about. He ahd come clean with her, but had not told her his full reasoning for it until a few days ago, in one of their chats.

That had simply increased the protectiveness she felt for him. She wanted to be close to him throughout his campaign against Voldemort. Truth be told, the idea was also something of a turn on for her. Perhaps it was the uniform she pictured him wearing to battle, or the lack thereof…

"Lead me to your parents, Cho. I need to make a proposal that I'm sure they'll want to hear."

Shellacked, she led him out of the room, an expression of stupid happiness on her face.

Ah, well…she could easily forgive him for not being romantic with his proposal.

* * *

_**Elsewhere, at the same time:**_

A knock sounded on the door of Number 4, Privet Drive.

A few minutes later, the door was snatched open from the inside, a woman with an exceptionally long neck glaring out from inside.

Without really glancing at the offending person, she snapped "Knocking on the door…haven't you heard of a doorbell!"

Then, she realized exactly who she was talking to. A squeaked "Eeep!" later, she had scurried back into the house, screaming "Harry Potter! Come down here now! Your…your _teacher_ is here!"

Dumbledore entered, a serene expression on his face. While looking at peace, he was prepared as ever.

He began to grow somewhat impatient, and was about to start towards the stairs when Harry Potter rounded the corner. Nothing much had changed…the boy had a few dark circles under his eyes, but nothing solid to suggest depression.

"Hello, Harry," the old man said. "How are you?"

A slight blush crossed Harry's face as he sat down across form Dumbledore. He placed a black slate on the table between them, glancing at Dumbledore apologetically.

Bending over, he took a piece of chalk and began scratching away. Dumbledore, perplexed, waited to see what this was about.

A few moments later, Harry sat up, and turned the slate around. It read:

_Sorry, Professor Dumbledore. I have a Muggle disease called Laryngitis. I caught it from Dudley earlier this week. It makes it very hard to talk, and trying too hard can make your throat bleed. I'll be fine in a day or two. How are you?_

Dumbledore stared at the words for a second, and then blinked.

"I'm sorry this had to happen, Harry. I'm sure you'll be fine. If it gets worse, please tell Auror Tonks to contact me, I'll have Madam Pomfrey take a look and see if she can do anything for you."

Once again, Harry blushed, scrawling:

_Thank you._

Dumbledore smiled genially. Things were going well; the boy held no more anger towards him. He seemed pliable. A small reward, like being given a fabricated position in the Order as a 'Special Informant' to Dumbledore, based on his dreams, would make him easily malleable.

"Harry, if you remember, Professor Snape came by two weeks ago to pick up your wand-"

As soon as the word 'Snape' crossed his mouth, Harry scribbled on the board. Dumbledore took the proffered slate from Harry, looking at it in confusion.

It was a circle, with smaller circles and a semicircle inside it. He was utterly confused.

Seeing his confusion, Harry grinned, and pointed at the semicircle. Then, he put the tips of his index fingers at the corners of his mouth, and pantomimed a frown. Bending over again, he scrawled:

_Frowny-Face._

Dumbledore blinked, then chuckled happily. "I'll remember that one, Harry, oh, yes, I will. In fact," he said, removing his wand, "I think I'll use it now."

A wave of his wand later, his robes were dotted with Smiley-Faces and Frowny-Faces, while his floppy hat had a large yellow Smiley-Face on it.

"Now, Harry, back to the matter at hand. You see, Severus was mistaken. In his hurry, he gave a random reason as to why your wand was required. I certainly don't think you would attack your relatives, Harry, not without provocation. You see, I think I've found a way to stop your connection with Voldemort."

Harry's eyes widened, and a huge grin appeared on his face.

"See, with the brother wands thing, and since I am bonded to Fawkes, I might be able to terminate the connection entirely. I will need your wand for a few days, and I'll have it sent back through Fawkes. He has grown since his little accident with Voldemort's Killing Curse at the Ministry."

Harry still had the stupid grin on his face, but it suddenly evaporated.

Bending over, he erased the board with the sleeve of his oversized jumper. Furiously, he began scrawling away for a few minutes, and then handed the slate over to Dumbledore with a sheepish grin.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry's actions, and took the board, turning it around to read the scrawled handwriting better.

_Sorry, Professor Dumbledore. Last night, Tonks talked me into giving my wand to you, and I agreed. I felt bad about it, because I thought you were disappointed in me and you wanted my wand because I was irresponsible. I'm happy that that's not the reason, Professor. She left a few minutes before you came, something about needing 'women's clothes'. She has some work to do somewhere, and then she said she would drop by Hogwarts and deliver the wand to you. She left her spare wand with me for now, just in case. _

_I'm sure she'll have it to you soon._

When Dumbledore left, a few minutes later, he missed the flash of pink in 'Harry's' eyes.

At the top of the stairs, 'Harry Potter' gradually turned into a curvaceous woman by the name of Nymphadora Tonks.

* * *

**Okay. Tell me what you think. REVIEW!**

**I'd like to thank Zero for beta-ing this chapter. Also, IP82 and cjcold contributeda lot of ideas and constructive criticism. Guys, you have my thanks.**

**Err...updates will be faster now that i have nothing to do this summer.**

**Cheers,**

**Apocalypso**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: It seems i have been remiss in putting this little tidbit in. I own nothing. JK owns all. Peace.

* * *

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**Chapter 6 **

Wine…what a beautiful delicacy.

The red fluid swirled in the glass, the entrancing pattern of the churning liquid reflected on the silver ring adorning the finger of the holder. Red eyes, a lighter, brighter hue than that of the wine, stared at the glass pensively. The man's abnormally long fingers, pale and sickly in color, lightly grasped the stem of the glass, the filthy hue of his skin swirling in the crystal stem of the glass. The difference between the hue of the wine and his eyes stood in sharp contrast, the malevolency of his eyes seeming perverted and disgusting at once in comparison to the swirling peace that the fluid seemed to contain.

He chuckled, the mirth in the action lost among the haunting tremors that followed as the sound bounced off the vaulted ceiling. Draining the glass of the aromatic liquid, he set it down on the armrest of his chair.

"Each moment distorts my view…" he whispered, some quasi-human emotion residing in his eyes, which lay sunken and unfocused, dilating sporadically. Bellowing in anger, his hand whipped out, lashing out at the closest vulnerable object: the glass.

It was launched into the air by the force of the strike, sailing across the room in a graceful arc. As it flew, the myriad of colors thrown upon it by the flickering torches suspended in the air cast blurred patches of light on the ground. They swirled like a kaleidoscope with the motion of the glass, twisting and turning before the end, as the glass shattered into four pieces as it struck the opposite wall.

His eyes protruded in a shocked stare as they regarded the result of his anger. A measly four pieces? Blinking, he laughed hysterically, his involuntary reflexes going so far as to cause his foot to stamp the ground in his laughter.

Snorting out the last bit of chuckles, he sat back in the seat. _"Interesting, isn't it, Nagini? The fact that I command such powerful magic, yet I cannot even cause a glass to crumble?"_

The snake at his feet, curled around the legs of his chair, hissed out a non-committal response. He grumbled at the lack of interaction, muttering _"Stop eating recruits, Nagini. You've become even more reclusive with some idiot occupying your stomach, and unfortunately I cannot afford your eating habits." _

It was childish, but even a Dark Lord could indulge in childishness. But it was true.

There was a serious dearth of capable help in his forces. The loss of a recruit or two, considering their fresh-out-of-Hogwarts level of skill, did not seem like much, when compared to the 300-odd Death Eaters he commanded. Still, it would count in the end. They, at the very least, were good for scare tactics. Any idiot with resolve and some practice could cast the Killing Curse, so why endanger worthwhile Death Eaters when he could employ these servantile idiots to attack some nameless Wizarding Village ?

What his main problem was at the moment was the lack of power that his forces represented. He only had a touch more than three hundred Death Eaters, and while this was about equal to the Auror ranks, they were nowhere near equal to the Aurors in training and power. Unused to fighting in groups, they acted like foolish Gryffindors in their incessant attempts to achieve the greatest number of kills in any given mission. Losing their lives and jeopardizing his objectives would hardly cause him to favor them amongst his faithful. Ten Aurors could decimate forty of his Death Eaters at their current level…it was a travesty. While his forces, termed 'terrorists' by Bagnold, the Minister of Magic in his early days, were equal in number to the Aurors, he knew that this was simply due to his cause. If he were not advocating blood purity, he doubted he would command more than a tenth of his force.

Rituals would need to be arranged for his servants, to increase their power. Training would have to be given. And most of all, his forces would have to be _increased_. It was common knowledge that only Purebloods were tolerated in the Dark Lord's forces. That, in itself, reduced the potential size of his forces by a huge amount. There were close to six thousand Purebloods in Britain …and of those, perhaps eight hundred could be persuaded to take the Mark. Albus Dumbledore's influence permeated through the society like a plague, and it made finding reliable help all the more difficult.

However, the 'official' return of the Dark Lord was a favorable portent for his expansionist ideals…the official conformation that the most powerful Wizard in the world had returned was likely to bring him a great deal of support. Knowing the terror that his last reign had brought, and the fear that had been the primary emotion coursing through the veins of society, the Dark Lord reveled in the attention. Fear was a powerful motivator…he would receive support and servants from those interested in protecting themselves and all that they loved.

He laughed in excitement, already envisioning the destruction he could wreak upon the Wizarding World. The thought of a functioning 'war machine', as it were, was almost orgasmic to him as he shuddered in delight. A true fighting force, gelling together perfectly, complementing each other as they wrought havoc upon the huddled masses that would form the rapidly darkening World.

Speaking of capable help…he cast a sour look towards his feet, his dreams extinguishing.

Nagini lazily raised her head, blood still glinting on her fangs. At least the snake was smart enough to avoid swallowing them whole. The one time she tried that, she had been useless for a month. Luckily, that catastrophe had passed, twenty years ago, and was now a distant memory of the boorish nature of the snake at his feet.

_"Master. Serve you?"_ the snake muttered, almost entirely taxing its intelligence. Snakes could understand Parseltongues, but they hardly had enough versatility with speech to speak more than simple, disjointed words. The Basilisk in the Chamber had been even worse than Nagini, having an odd fixation with repeating the same thing over again. To this day, Lord Voldemort could irritably recall the constantly repeated words of that idiot snake: _"Blood…kill, rip, tear. Need blood."_

_"No. I doubt you could prove useful at the moment anyway. Silence yourself, I need to think."_ Obediently, Nagini flopped back to the floor, a _whoosh_ of air culminating in an audible flopping sound. The Dark Lord clenched his eyes shut in irritation, trying to ignore the sound.

The urge to level his wand at the dozing snake and cast the Cruciatus struck him, but he fought it down. Sighing, he closed his eyes and sank back into his chair.

In the remote reaches of his mind, a tiny spark of rationality had returned to the Dark Lord, trying in vain to return full control of his mental facilities to him. Having avoided the Cleansing Ritual for over fifty years had systematically eroded his original mindset. Dark Magic wove through his every thought, enforcing his drive for power.

Fluctuating moods, sudden anger, his love for torture, death and destruction…the results of a mind warped from manipulative success to forcible victories. Tom Riddle had been a force of intelligence, calculatingly plotting his every move prior to taking action. He had his future mapped out, planning to capitalize on his intelligence to pave the way to the top as Lord Voldemort. But the plan was to retain his original mindset.

Instead of adopting the persona of Lord Voldemort, he _became_ Lord Voldemort, adopting the persona of Tom Riddle at times. By the time he was fourteen, he had begun using Dark Magic in the Chamber of Secrets. By the time he was fifteen, he had used enough to warrant a minimum of two cleansing rituals. But he ignored it, reveling in the odd clarity of mind that Dark Magic brought. While he retained his calculating nature, he lost his regard for social norms. Life was no longer something to be treasured. His _own_ life was something to be guarded viciously and extended for as long as possible, while the lives of others devalued as he became increasingly cruel. Tom Riddle was now simply a name, lost behind the terror that was Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle was an attitude, a crafty, sly personality, nothing more. Why, even being referred to be the name of the half-blood was angering to him…Lord Voldemort would hardly deign to allow anyone to refer to him with a name so…_Human_.

He was far from human…he was above human, far superior, and his actions spoke for themselves. No ignorant, idealistic _wizard_ would dare to name him in such a way that his very superiority was called into question.

_Snap!_

The spark died, under the onslaught of the Dark Magic that resided in the Dark Lord. While it did not pervert his thoughts per se, it did influence his decisions, and lend him more sadistic, homicidal tendencies. It certainly did not let him dwell on his need to perform cleansing rituals. The snap turned his attention away from such thoughts, redirecting it to his forces, to more _worthwhile_ thoughts.

A wave of his hand slammed the doors open. "Wormtail," he called, the chilling voice causing said Death Eater to tremble as he entered. He was free to indulge in his small fits of insanity while the door was closed…the silencing charm did its work as long as the door wasn't open. He recognized some sort of fluctuation within his raging, turbulent thoughts, one that would infrequently cause a burst of chuckles or screams…a weakness that could hardly be displayed to his Death Eaters. His servants regarded him as the God he felt himself to be, and he was loath to relieve them-and himself- of this opinion.

"My Lord?" the sniveling man asked, head bowed in perfect servitude. Living with the Dark Lord for a year had taught the rat well. It was only to be expected that a man formerly loyal to the light would not have the servitude ingrained in his personality that the Death Eaters did, that he would not have the servility and subordinate reflexes that the Death Eaters regarded as a norm when in the presence of their Master. It had to be forcibly ingrained in the rat…through pain, for pain was the most effective way that the Dark Lord understood. Even in the malignant-looking form of an infant, Lord Voldemort commanded far more respect than most men, and he took full advantage of this fact.

"Locate Bellatrix, and tell her that I require her presence immediately." His voice was flat, unimpressed by even the most extravagant shows of loyalty and deference. Wormtail, for all his stupidity, was smart enough to realize, given time, that perhaps his best course of action would be to appease the Dark Lord's every whim. The Dark Lord scowled inwardly, knowing that using the rat's mark would incapacitate him for a while because of the pain. Wormtail had his uses, but his failures were even worse. Had it not been for the Adrenaline-boosting potion and the pain numbing charms that preceded the Resurrection Ritual a year ago, the Rat would have botched things up in the worst manner.

"Yes, My Lord," replied the rat, executing a pitiful excuse for a formal bow as he left His exalted presence.

Waiting, Voldemort impatiently drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, grudgingly appreciative of the tastes of the man who formerly resided there. The chair was comfortable, even if it _was _crafted by Muggles. Unfortunately, the man no longer lived at all, much less in an abode so comfortable, so thanks were of little use, if Lord Voldemort would ever stoop to the level of thanking a Muggle.

A minute flew by, his thoughts flitting from one inconsequential thing to another, his impatience growing. A knock on the door and a hushed "You summoned me, My Lord?" announced Bellatrix's arrival.

"Come closer, Bella," he said, his chilling gaze upon her. Warily, she approached, her eyes flitting from danger to danger as she entered…_snake, Dark Lord, snake, Dark Lord…choices, choices…Dark Lord!_ Taking a visible breath to steel her nerves, she forcibly wrenched her gaze from the snake, bestowing it appropriately upon her Lord's feet. For a woman like Lestrange, this action was a rather trying one to take, since her jumpy mind reacted to danger in a manner quite similar to how a rattlesnake did.

"The new Death Eaters are showing utterly dismal levels of competence," he said, his voice hissing out his displeasure quite cleanly. "As you are one of the only competent Death Eaters outside Azkaban, it has fallen to you to…educate them. You have two weeks to make sure that they achieve respectable competency in dueling and spell knowledge. Brute force will not suffice for the plans I have."

Clearing her throat to rid herself of the constricting sensation that she always felt in the presence of Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix went so far as to question him. "What plans would those be, My Lord?"

Looking up slowly from where his view had been fixed on his snake, Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Quailing, Bellatrix bowed her head, whispering "Forgive my audacity, Master."

A moment of silence passed. Unnerved, Bellatrix looked up unsurely, stuttering "Should- uh…may I leave, Milord?"

He leaned his head to the side, regarding her closely. His stare bored deep into her eyes, and she shuddered involuntarily in fear. His eyes widened imperceptibly…she was radiating guilt and fear now.

He decided that passive legilimency was a true boon, if magic had ever granted one to mankind. Nothing got past him. This was a time for Tom Riddle's perspicacity to emerge; Bellatrix would need to be handled appropriately, and to his utmost consternation, he did not possess the patience that his half-blood persona did.

Invisibly, he entered her mind, his approach bearing none of the brutal forwardness that his strikes against Harry Potter's mind had borne. Inured as he was to horrific images, Voldemort still felt uncomfortable in her mind. The fantasies of torture and perverse humiliation before morbid death…these were marks of an insanity so deeply ingrained in her being that mind and soul had entirely turned to darkness.

Ah…the source of the guilt and fear. And, it had to do with…_Harry Potter? _Interesting. And what fantasies they were…she had mapped out every last second of the torture…the humiliation. But there was no death, a curious aspect. Digging deeper, he found the answer. She would submit Potter's broken form to him, partly out of her allegiance to him as a Marked servant, but mostly out of her instincts to simultaneously avoid punishment at his hand for killing the boy while furthering herself in his ranks.

It was only this that stopped him from casting the Cruciatus on her. Punishing her for it would be a bad idea. She had taken on this idea of her own volition, and her deepest desires would make her succeed in this endeavor…punishing her for it would remove part of the feverish way in which she would attack, making her entirely forget her initial desires. He needed her to carry that belief of _some_ degree of independence…it would make the operation all the more successful. After his next order, she would feel demoralized, but within days, her insanity would once more provide the motivation and delusions of independence that he required. Within the Dark Lord's mind, Voldemort cursed Tom Riddle's persona for being too lenient, though the grudging agreement was present.

He withdrew as gently as he had entered, leaving a slight distortion behind that masked the minute passed within her mind as yet another minute of uncomfortable silence. His mindset reverted to that of Lord Voldemort, gleeful amusement coming to him from his next words.

"You will also retrieve Potter for me at some point this year. You may take your time having fun with him, but he will be brought to me for execution, understood?"

She paled, whispering "Potter, My Lord?" The disappointment was evident in her tone. It took the excitement out of the hunt for her. There would be no excitement, no sense of independency if she was to attack the boy under _his_ orders. It had ceased to be her idea. No matter what destruction she wrought on the boy's body and mind, it would be inconsequential. He had commanded her to do it, and she would not _dare_ to protest and claim the operation as her own. She might, depending on the thoroughness of her actions, be able to gain some favor with the Dark Lord, but it would barely make up for the debacle that had been her performance at the Ministry.

_FUCK! _

Head bowed, she whispered "Of course, Sire. May I leave, or do you still require my presence?" The manner of her speech was arrogant, but the humility and reverence for his power evident in her tone appeased his volatile nature. Purebloods couldn't help being purebloods, after all. Pompous idiots, they were, at times. Still, his mind very nearly interpreted her servile words to indicate that Bellatrix believed that he required her…reaching that conclusion would have caused him to disembowel the woman on the spot. Manually.

"Leave," he commanded, turning to his snake once more. The dismissal, even if it had not been enunciated, was clear as soon as the Lord's attention turned to his Snake. She bowed, turned and walked towards the door, only to be halted while grasping the handle of the door.

"Bellatrix," he called, attention still focused on his snake, a dark smirk on his face, "your batch of recruits will attack Azkaban in two weeks, during the first Wizengamot Meeting of August."

He nearly laughed as she tensed, her back snapping straight. "Master," she said in deference, and left. In the room, he stroked Nagini's head, whispering _"She is devious, Nagini. I do not doubt her loyalty, but it seems that Azkaban has worn away her senses. If she fails in this, she will be disciplined harshly." _

The Dark Lord smiled a truly terrifying grin…he had full faith in Harry Potter. Something about the boy spoke of carefully controlled reactions…almost as if his every action was a pretense. He felt it in his bones…the boy was more than what he seemed to be.

After all, who would know better than the first person to be capable of deceiving Albus Dumbledore?

* * *

"WHAT!"

Harry winced. This wasn't exactly how he had envisioned this meeting. Mr. Chang…he had not given a first name, looked apoplectic, cheeks and ears red. It might have had something to do with the way Cho had introduced him.

_"Father, please meet the man I'm going to marry."_

The rosy blush of happiness on her face might have had something to do with it as well…it rather looked like afterglow. The last thing he needed now was for Mr. Chang to believe that he had just shagged his daughter silly, and then dragged her down to get married. It wasn't exactly…_proper_, you could say.

Then, all was calm. The pallor returned to Mr. Chang's face. Turning to his daughter, he said in a sickly sweet voice "Cho, I don't recall you mentioning anything about a companion."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, snarling "And I don't recall raising a whore! What the hell were you thinking? Allowing a man into your bedroom before marriage?"

He would have continued, but his mouth snapped shut as he saw Harry from the corner of his eye. Turning to the young man, he was about to berate him, only to find the light gone from Harry's eyes, a dark look residing in the usually emotive orbs.

"I will make myself clear, Mr. Chang," Harry said in a toneless voice, "if you dare to use that word again, you will not like the consequences. Be civilized."

"What? Who do you think you are, Harry fucking Potter? And is this your Damsel in distress? Get out!" he snarled, jabbing his finger towards the door.

Harry blinked. "Yes."

"What?" In his rage, the one-word answer seemed to have unsettled Mr. Chang. Where he had been puffing himself up, ostensibly to physically force Harry out of the house, he deflated in confusion.

"You had it right, Mr. Chang. My name is Harry _James_ Potter. _Lord_ Harry James Potter. And I am making a formal proposal for your daughter's hand in marriage."

The reaction was not surprising. Mr. Chang laughed, derogatively. "Young man, get out now before I call the Aurors. And Cho, go to your room! You don't want to test my patience, _daughter_, this is the last thing I expected!"

Harry reached into his pocket, causing Mr. Chang to withdraw his wand and aim it at him threateningly. Unconcerned, he continued his action seamlessly, withdrawing the rosewood box and setting it on the table between them. A slight push with the tips of his fingers sent the box halfway across the shiny lacquered surface of the table.

Still training his wand on Harry, who had leaned back in his armchair, he chanced a look down at the rosewood box, recognizing the Gringotts crest engraved into its lid. Then, he felt a jerk in his hand as his wand was torn from his grasp. Frantic, he looked up, only to find the young man calmly handing the wand to his daughter.

His eyes met the boy's, and he nearly shivered. They were cold…perhaps he shouldn't have insulted his daughter in front of him.

"Open the box, Mr. Chang." He did, revealing a pair of rings. He blinked. The Potter ring stood proud and simple. A plain, flat gold band with the Family name engraved into it. The Potters had always favored simplicity, but this was certainly not a fake…it radiated magic of such potency that the hairs on his arms had stood on end. The other ring was once again austere in decoration, though the font of the letter 'C' emblazoned on it was rather stylized. It too radiated magic, but nowhere near the level that the Potter Ring did.

"This is the Potter ring, yes. But it means nothing, you could have stolen it. And why isn't it on your finger if you are Harry Potter? Give me the wand back, and get out of my house!"

The lad blinked again, looking at him in a manner that made Mr. Chang feel pitied. "As you might know, I have yet to turn sixteen. The rings will not accept me as the rightful Lord for another two weeks."

"If you expect me to-" He cut himself off abruptly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. If the boy spoke the truth, then at the very least, he should listen. A proposal was a proposal…it did not bind him to agreement until a contract was signed. Abruptly, his mouth closed, and he glared at the young man sitting across from him. No…even the term 'young man' seemed inappropriate. The lad seemed more mature than he himself was acting.

Once again, he saw the look from the boy. His face was emotionless, but his eyes seemed to emote more than should have been possible. The feeling he got while looking into those eyes…he nearly shivered. A perfect mix of haughty superiority yet feral preparedness lay in those eyes, and for some reason, the older man felt at once pitied and small, as if neither his intellect, nor his masculinity could compare to those of the lad across him.

"Who are you?" he asked with some irritation in his voice.

"As I said, Mr. Chang, my name is Harry James Potter." The truth of his words was plainly obvious, though the Chang Patriarch couldn't understand why.

"Prove it," he said, his voice no longer acerbic. The young man complied, removing his wand from his robes, and laying it on the desk between them. Chang raised an eyebrow. This was a clear show of trust and nonaggression…yielding one's wand to another was a sign of peace and faith. Chang turned to his daughter, who handed him his own wand.

_"Voco Dominus!"_ he commanded, tapping Harry's wand with his own. He blinked a few times, feeling the wand communicate with him. Eyes narrowing, he jabbed his wand at Harry's, muttering _"Efflagito Erus!"_

This time, a hazy line of smoke appeared, connecting the tip of the wand with Harry's heart. Chang nodded, apparently satisfied. He returned Harry's wand, and placed his own inside his robe, sitting back on the seat. A slightly crafty expression appeared on his face, though he did his best to hide it.

"Why are you here, then? A proposal? That could be submitted via a formal letter…it does not require your presence, Mr. Potter." It was true, and the action might well signify great profit to him. If the lad was desperate enough to approach him directly…well, it made bargaining easier. Harry wryly noted the abrupt politeness of his words…Mr. Chang, it seemed, knew how to bargain. Although the question wasn't direct, the negotiations had already started.

"I couldn't take that chance, Mr. Chang," Harry replied. "You see, your daughter means a lot to me, and having you make the decision to betroth her to the Malfoy boy could not be allowed."

His eyes bugged out, anger appearing in them again as he exploded. "What! You **dare** to meddle in the affairs of my family?" As a proud man, regardless of his craftiness, this could not be tolerated. For this outsider to presume to tell him what he could and could not do…it was inexcusable!

Before the man could continue, Harry shook his head. "Of course not," he said softly, "I merely came to ensure that the woman I love would not have to endure a marriage to a man she despises."

This calmed him down spectacularly, the flush of anger fading in record time. Speechless, he asked "What? Cho- I…_what?_" His daughter was blushing prettily, eyes locked on the floor. Still, it did nothing to hide the lovely flush on her cheeks, the whole image that of a virginal bride being betrothed. Inwardly, he snorted, half in anger, half in humor…if, knowing his strictness, she was forward enough to invite a man directly into her bedroom, chances were that she was no virgin.

"Tell me, Mr. Chang, why would you even consider a proposal from the Malfoy Family?"

"I hardly need to tell you that You-Know-Who has returned…after all, you were the only one to say that before His appearance in the Ministry. Ergo, an alliance between my family and those who are His faithful would be conducive to our safety. You _ended_ his first reign as Dark Lord…you do not know what horrors took place then. Having safety from the Dark Lord's vengeance is an opportunity that I cannot pass up. Perhaps declining the Malfoy proposal wouldn't put us in peril…but accepting a proposal from you most assuredly would. I mean no slight, but you are Half-blooded, and you know as well as I do that it would put us in _far_ greater danger to associate with you."

Harry nodded, thinking carefully. The bargaining had started…that much was obvious to him, though it would have been lost on most people. Chang had already told him what benefits he could receive from a marriage with the Malfoys…it was a move engineered to force Harry's hand. Chang either expected Harry to make promises of safety that were out of his control, something that would surely cause the man to dismiss his proposal entirely, or to cross his palm in gold. Basically, he expected Harry to make sure that his proposal was more than generous, and considering the danger he mentioned, he intended for Harry's generosity to be far more than what was appropriate in this situation. He was crafty, that much was certain.

Cho's eyes were downcast…this was a bump she had not even considered. Her father had never been a stickler for blood purity before. Of course, with the return of the Dark Lord, blood once again meant everything. Now, it seemed, all was lost. She was damned to a hell on earth, for the simple reason that Harry's blood wasn't pure enough.

Of course, she was surprised when Harry laughed. Blinking, her eyes shot towards him in surprise.

"I, Mr. Chang, am not a Half-Blood. I am pureblooded, and hold as much, if not _more_ power than the Malfoy Family does. As of now, I am the Potter Heir, and the Crowen Heir through my Mother. I will also receive the Lordship of my Godfather's Family…the Blacks. This will become public knowledge soon enough. Now, it is true that I am a special target for the Dark Lord. However, in a few weeks, the Dark Lord should find that my intentions are neutral, unlike the Daily Prophet would have us believe. Targeting me, at that point, will be something he will not want to do…and I'm afraid that is all I can say on this subject. As for your family…I'm sure that if, _hypothetically_, you were to accept my proposal, then the hypothetical Contract could accommodate the fees for a group of professional warders to secure your home."

It was a considerable offer, really, since Professional Warders usually charged obscene amounts to comprehensively ward a home. It was justified, since the entire process usually left the team magically exhausted for a few weeks, which meant that they would be unable to work until their magic was relaxed.

The elder man's eyes shot wide open, and flicked over to his daughter. She, too, seemed shocked by the revelation that he was pureblooded, staring at him in frank amazement.

Head whipping towards Harry, he said "I hope you will forgive me for asking you to prove your statement." He didn't say 'claim'…that would connote his disbelief.

Harry inclined his head in acquiescence, already knowing that this ritual would have to be carried out. From his pocket, he extracted the Ritual Blade that he purchased earlier in the day. Making a shallow cut on his palm, he dipped his index finger into the blood, hissing as the icy sensation gave way to pain. Using the blood-covered finger, he drew a line of blood down his throat, simultaneously saying "Harry James Potter, _Voco Sanctitas Sanguini!"_

This was one of the dregs of Blood Magic that still remained in the knowledge of common Wizards. It had been shared by the Scottish Blood Mages for the sole purpose of allowing disputes over blood purity to be handled quickly without having to delve into the tediousness of family trees. What it did was simple…it made an aura bloom forth, the color of the aura signifying the purity of one's blood. Harry held up his bleeding hand in a cupping gesture, palm facing up, and said _"Invocare!"_ The aura burst forth from the cut on his palm, a small ball of white light.

Both Changs blinked in subdued surprise. Cho's eyes narrowed as they gazed at Harry, who was healing his cut and vanishing the streak of blood on his neck. He had a lot to explain…he _had_ said that he was keeping secrets, but he had assured her that she would know them as soon as her Occlumency reached a certain point.

"Now," Harry said, "what I represent to your family is _far_ more safety than an alliance with the Malfoys can provide. Once allied with them, it will be a matter of weeks before you are summoned before the Dark Lord, and it will be a matter of _minutes_ after that in which you will have made the decision to accept the Dark Mark rather than see your family slaughtered along with you. An alliance with the Malfoys is equable to forced servitude. This, in turn, would establish you as an enemy of the Ministry and all those that oppose the Dark Lord. I am quite familiar with the Malfoy Heir, Mr. Chang…he is already betrothed…to someone who is physically repulsive, but represents a politically astute alliance. I think you understand me…I do not need to emphasize what life your daughter will live in that house. I, on the other hand, represent a neutral party, something which will be made quite apparent soon enough."

This was Harry's retaliation, in kind. Reminding Chang of his obligation to make sure his daughter was happy was a strong blow, but softly placed. Emphasizing what his whole _Family's_ future could be was another strike…the likelihood of the events occurring exactly as he predicted was high. Essentially, Harry was systematically proving that the safety of the Chang Family was equally at risk, regardless of who Cho was married to.

Chang nodded tiredly. "I know," he said, then changed the topic. "Mr. Potter, you are the Boy-Who-Lived…believing you to be neutral is not easy."

Harry nodded. "Of course. My neutrality is only _effective_ neutrality, Mr. Chang. I am oppose to the Dark Lord for obvious reasons: the death of my parents, and the numerous times that he has attempted to kill me. But, I do not place my support behind what is called the 'Light'. Albus Dumbledore, while powerful and influential, has not swayed me to his way of thinking. Thus, since I neither support the Dark Lord, nor his main opponent, I am effectively neutral. The first Convention of the Wizengamot will contain those that are loyal to him…my position of neutrality will reach his ears immediately. In any case, I don't intend to publicize my relationship with Cho until then. As far as the Malfoys are concerned, you only need inform them that their proposal, which arrived today, was late. Draco Malfoy will suffer only a moment of irritation, Mr. Chang…his interest in Cho is because of me."

Chang's eyes narrowed. "He is proposing to my daughter to spite you?" He looked angry, and Harry was somewhat happy that the anger wasn't directed at him, and rather pleased that Mr. Chang had been distracted. Chang turned to his daughter, and asked "Is this true?"

Cho nodded, eyes serious. Chang snarled, eyes burning. Turning to Harry, he said "State your proposal, Mr. Potter."

It was easy for him to believe them. The Changs and the Malfoys hardly frequented the same circles, so a proposal like this, despite his daughter's great beauty, was rather random. The Malfoys were one of the few families that were more than exclusive in the families that they forged their alliances with. They married within an exclusive circle that contained noted pureblooded families with darker inclinations…which was why the Malfoy line could no longer produce more than one child per generation. Magic had been instrumental in preventing the harsher side-effects of what was practically incestuous breeding, but not all of them could be eliminated. Making a proposal to a distinctly middle-class family like the Changs was more than odd, but Mr. Chang had been ready to blame it on his daughter's beauty. Until now.

Harry nodded slowly, sitting straighter in his chair. He cautiously said "I believe we can reach an agreement, Mr. Chang, but I'd rather that this wasn't done in front of Cho. I hope that some day she will be my wife, so giving her love a monetary value is not something I want to do in front of her."

Chang smiled slightly, nodding his agreement. It was a kind thing to do…while most purebloods wouldn't give it a second's thought, the young man obviously cared enough for his daughter to refrain from putting a price on her head, so to speak. It would be disconcerting for Cho, considering that the two men she trusted most were negotiating her price…especially since Mr. Chang fully expected Harry to try and bargain. For a man like Mr. Chang, a romantic at heart despite his stern, crafty persona, _this_ was the factor that changed his mind fully. The wards would take care of his family's safety, and he would be able to relax, knowing that his daughter was in good hands.

"I agree, Mr. Potter. Cho, I will ask you to give us some privacy, please," he said, "but I can tell you now…I am much inclined to betroth you to Mr. Potter. He shows a level of understanding that I am very pleased with."

Harry allowed himself a smile a minute before Cho crashed into him, laughing and crying simultaneously. His arms immediately wrapped around her, holding her quivering body against his even as she stammered words of love to him, and words of thanks to her father at the same time. It took her a minute, but she managed to compose herself, though her face was streaked with tears of happiness. Smiling at her, he kissed her forehead gently, whispering "I'll see you when I'm done here, alright?"

She smiled back through her tears, looking resplendent. "Okay," she whispered shyly, kissing his cheek. She hugged her father tightly, whispering her thanks into his ear. Then, in a smooth moment as she pulled away from him, she placed a white envelope in his hand. Ignoring his questioning look, she kissed his cheek and left the room.

Harry looked at Mr. Chang inquisitively, but said nothing. Chang prepared to put the envelope down for later reading, but paused. Muttering to himself, he read the cover, saying "Urgent…read first…hmm?"

Shooting Harry an apologetic glance, he opened the envelope, took out the sheet, and began reading. It was written in Chinese, the script ornate and beautiful. Harry marveled at it, initially missing the growing look of shock on Mr. Chang's face as he read the letter. Soon, Harry noticed it, and voiced his worry.

"Mr. Chang, is everything alright?" he asked.

Chang blinked, nodding distractedly "Oh. Yes," he said vaguely, still immersed in the letter. He seemed to read it a few times before finally laying the letter down, seeming burdened.

"I understand," he said, "that Cho is to be your lesser wife. I wish you had told me this earlier."

Harry blinked. "I wish," he said, surprise evident in his tone, "that Cho had told _me_ earlier. I talked to her about this, Mr. Chang…she believes that I am destined for another woman. Actually, to put it in her words, she has a part of my heart, but that another woman holds the other, larger piece. As I said to her, I don't believe in having a 'lesser' wife. I would not be making this proposal if I did not care for her. While she might know something that I don't, I am still not prepared to title her as a 'lesser' wife. She will, your consent provided, be my wife, and I shall make no distinction between her and this 'other woman', if she turns out to be right."

Chang nodded slightly, still staring at the letter.

Harry wasn't surprised when the man said "Very well. Let us talk numbers…the paperwork can be done later."

Wearied, he returned to Privet Drive, though the slight flush of success still graced his cheeks. The _perfect_ little houses still stood intact, glistening in a manner most disgusting to the young Lord. The effort that these people put into being perfect was absolutely nauseating to him. A futile effort, since for all their superficial perfection, an outside observer would have the same reaction to their pretentious natures as he did.

Running a hand through his hair as he enjoyed the light summer breeze, he slowly walked the fifty yards towards the Dursley home. The regular few lights were on, as usual, and nothing seemed out of place, but for some reason, things seemed extremely wrong. He tensed, pausing behind a nearby tree, peering carefully at the house. Not a thing was out of place…it looked as painfully normal as the rest of the house, save for the slight remnants of the barred window that had caged him in the summer after his First Year. He blinked, and it hit him…the flickering light was not present.

In the Dursley Household, the television _constantly_ played during the summers. The fleeting pictures on the massive screen always played across the flimsy curtains that veiled the view into the Dursley home. The lights that he had spent his childhood wistfully staring at were not present, and the lack of those flickering blue lights seemed to make all the difference.

His eyes narrowed as he crouched slightly, peering _very_ carefully at the house. In the window of his own bedroom, he saw a feminine form stretch its arms out and curve its spine backwards. That would be Tonks, he knew. She was probably getting ready for bed. The light in Dudley 's bedroom was off, which, again, was surprising. The corpulent boy usually left lights on wherever he went, neglecting to turn them of to conserve electricity. In any case, Dudley rarely went to bed before 2 AM. The Master bedroom had a window too, but it looked out the back of the house, over the small patio and backyard.

Slowly, he made his way closer, until he was inconspicuously leaning against a tree outside Number 2 Privet Drive, the house next door. Slowly extracting his wand, he cast a notice-me-not charm around himself to ward off the eyes of anyone who was peering out of their windows in the fashion that Privet Driveseemed to enjoy. Blinking a few times, he pointed his wand at his eyes and muttered _"Adaugeo!"_

The third-year charm worked as it was supposed to, allowing him to examine things as if he were peering through a pair of short-ranged binoculars. His eyes circled about a bit until he was able to find his bearings, and he managed to stop his sight upon the doorstep of Number 4. Slowly, his eyes moved up the door, ignoring the bright flash of light as the golden doorknob reflected the streetlights into his eyes. Finally, his eyes found the small window built into the top of the door, a space perhaps five inches long and twenty inches wide in a rectangle, with the longer end parallel to the ground.

For a few seconds, it seemed, his suspicions had been off. Then, just as he was preparing to cancel the charm, he noticed it. The shadows moved, signaling the presence of someone waiting inside the doorway!

Resisting the urge to blink, he watched for another few seconds, noting the shadows shift a few more times, signifying the impatience of whoever was waiting. His wand came up again, canceling the charm on his eyes, and he had to cover his eyes and moan as he felt himself ridiculously disoriented. Nearly stumbling, he once again leaned on the tree and focused on the pavement for a while until he felt his vision had returned to normal.

Another wave of his wand removed the notice-me-not charm from the ground, and he was off. He slipped into the bushes between the two houses, easily stepping over the two foot fence that stood between the houses. Slowly, he circled the house, approaching the patio door at the rear of the house. Creeping into the shadows there, he peered in through the large glass portion of the rear door, noticing the darkened sitting room. Then, his eyes widened as he noticed the 'attackers'.

Petunia Dursley stood next to the kitchen door, wringing her hands in a manner terribly reminiscent of nervous women in the few movies he had been able to see. An expression contorted her face, one that seemed to be a cross between reluctance and great excitement. Closer to the door stood Dudley , a sick grin on his face. His hair was slicked back like Malfoy's, and he was wearing the most ridiculous clothing…a pair of slightly baggy boxing trunks, shoes, and a vest. He had never looked more repulsive before…the meat seemed to roll off his body in waves. Suppressing his distaste, Harry noticed that Dudley was wearing his Boxing gloves, large, red, meaty gloves that would probably do very little to cushion the blow despite the padding. His eyes narrowed again, noticing Vernon . His dear Uncle was standing near the door, still clad in his work clothes. His sleeves were rolled up, the tie loosened, and his topmost button freed. He was perspiring heavily, as the large wet spots under his arms, on his chest and ostensibly his back would dictate. In his meaty arms he carried a cricket bat, the Kookaburra Professional bat that Dudley 's favorite English cricketer used. The threatening way in which the club was brandished made things obvious enough for even Ron Weasley to understand what they were trying to do.

Apparently, they had arranged things in a simple, straightforward, but effective fashion. Harry would have entered through the front door, naturally seeing the wall in front of him, and the door to the small bathroom on his right. The other side of the wall was the staircase, with his old cupboard under it. On the last step of the stairs stood Vernon , holding the bat. Harry would have walked in, and turned to go up the stairs, at which point Vernon would have hit him with the bat. Then, the three Dursleys would do whatever they had planned, which could hardly be anything but violent.

Harry's lips curled in disgust…what a family. His wand rose, casting a silencing charm on the locking mechanism of the patio door, and then another on his shoes. With his left hand, he drew one of his daggers, holding it tightly behind his back to make sure that no light reflected off the shiny blade. Slowly, his inched forward, and silently slipped the door open, thanking the gods for the fact that there were no frogs or crickets in the backyard to make noise. Slipping in, he silently shut the door and crouched behind one of the couches. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, and made his move.

He really did want to do this…after years of enduring them, a little payback was more than deserved. With the situation the way it was, it wasn't an unprovoked attack by him either. The convenience of the situation created a dark smile on his face as he moved, leaping from behind the couch. Slashing his wand, he let loose a wave of offensive magic, blasting Vernon and Petunia off their feet and into the nearest walls. Simultaneously, his left hand, bearing the dagger, came whistling downwards through the air, the base of the weapon striking Dudley squarely in the back of the head. Petunia hit the wall with a smack, her forehead impacting hard enough to knock her out immediately. Dudley , on the other hand, only had enough time to blink before he felt a blinding pain and slipped into unconsciousness. Vernon , however, suffered somewhat, as he was lifted off his feet, and sent through the nearest wall. Unfortunately, the section of the wall that he hit wasn't as strong as the section that Petunia hit.

He hit the cupboard under the stairs, blasting through the flimsy door that had seemed so daunting in Harry's childhood like a bullet through paper. Splinters flew, an almighty crash indicating that Vernon had found Harry's old cot, folded up and stowed inside the cupboard. A groan floated through the open doorway, a pitiful plea for help following it.

Releasing his held breath, Harry sucked in a new one, eyes flitting to and fro to look for a new threat. The feral gleam in his eyes slowly dimmed as nothing came. His breath evened, and he stowed the dagger back in its sheath within his robes. Slowly, he crossed the room, heading for the stairs. Crouching slightly to be able to look into the cupboard, he began laughing. Vernon was caught quite badly, trapped between the frame of Harry's cot and the fragments of the wooden door to the cupboard. The frame of the bed had bent, curling around his back and squeezing on each side, and the cupboard lay in shattered pieces around and behind him.

A muttered _"Stupefy!"_ later, Vernon 's groans ceased. Harry repeated the spell on the other two members of the Dursley family, thereby ensuring their silence for the next day or so…until he was long gone. With a grin, he paused as he was approaching the stairs, wheeling around abruptly. With a dark smirk, he leveled his wand at Dudley , jabbing it towards the fat boy in a jerky movement that revealed his hatred for the boy.

_"Anthropi Porcini!"_ he commanded, grinning as Dudley 's slumped form twitched as his pants tore. A curly pig's tail emerged through the new opening, bobbing in tandem with the fat boy's breath. The Dursleys would, once again, have a hell of a time trying to explain how exactly their oaf of a son had sprouted a tail.

Stowing his wand away, Harry opened the door to his room and slipped in. Tonks was in bed, absorbed by a book held up on her legs. The light had been turned off, but a few candles flickered, providing enough light for them. The charm on the door had made sure that Vernon was unable to attack Tonks while she was inside, and the silencing charm had probably made sure that she had heard none of the commotion downstairs.

Entering, he sighed happily as he felt the slight chill in the room from the charm Tonks had placed on the window. In the hot summer months, the charm was an absolute godsend.

"Hey, Harry," Tonks said, eyes still focused on the pages of the thick book.

Harry muttered a greeting, slinging his robe onto the chair. "Well," he said, slumping back onto his bed, "I'm officially engaged. God." His last word covered her slight squeak.

She made a noncommittal noise, still absorbed in her book. "What're you reading?" he asked, not noticing her lips tighten into a slight grimace.

"It's a guide for Metamorphs," she replied, her voice sounding somewhat tremulous, "it goes into the nitty-gritty of some of the toughest transformations. Since you're heading to the Chamber, I decided to get back to the Order."

He blinked. "What will you tell them?"

"I took your wand from you, but didn't have the time to get it to Dumbledore. I came back here, and decided to do it the next day. You were already sleeping. When I woke up, you were gone, and you had taken your wand with you, as well as all your things."

He smiled up at the ceiling, turning on his side so he could look at her better. "What's the book for, then?"

Looking over at him, she smirked wickedly and said "Harry…I have to be absolutely sure that I know how to trigger tears at random."

He snickered, jibing "I thought you women had a tear-reflex anyways?"

Grinning, she seemed to loosen up a bit, and pitched a pillow at him, muttering "Smartass."

Taking the pillow in the face, he grinned, and got up to change out of his clothes. "Thanks for all your help, Tonks; you don't know how much your trust means to me."

She nodded, going back to her reading as he slipped out of the room. As he left, she got out of bed, striding towards the small bag that held her things. A tear slipped down her cheek as she rummaged within it, sniffing audibly. Presently, her hand emerged, bearing two glass vials, one filled with a grey fluid and the other with an electric blue one. For a few minutes, she sat there kneeling, holding the vials in her hands and staring at them, the occasional tear or tremor being the only sign of life in her body. Then, she blinked away her tears, and uncorked the vials, downing them in one gulp.

Shuddering at the taste, she dropped them back into the bag. Slowly, her teary eyes dried, and her shaking lip stilled. Where she looked defeated, she now looked predatory, a slight grin on her face. Lifting her shirt, she saw the slight blue haze evaporating, and grinned. She stood slowly, her wand emerging as she began waving it with practiced ease.

A bravery potion was the only thing that would get her through this.

* * *

Taking his time, he showered, removing the sweat and grime that his day had caused. Feeling the water cascade down his body, he grumbled mentally about Gilmore Alley being filthy. He finished off by brushing his teeth and toweling off, slipping into a pair of boxers.

Slowly returning to the bedroom, he entered, not really paying much attention to his surroundings as he dropped the towel to the floor. He blinked, seeing both his wands, his daggers and Sirius' penknife stuck to the wall, and opened his mouth to ask the lump in the bed that was presumably Tonks a question. Thus, he was more than a little surprised when his body was wrenched across the room and thrown onto the bed, steel manacles holding his arms above his head, attached to the bedposts. Similarly, his ankles were bound in steel and securely attached to the bed.

He blinked in shock, before tossing around, trying to manually extricate himself from the binds that held him. It was to no avail, as the manacles and the bed itself had been strengthened to the point that he could not break them away. Frantic, he attempted to wandlessly free himself, but unsurprisingly, he was unable to. His wandless magic wasn't strong enough to counteract the sticking charms that held his tools to the wall either, and his attempts to cast wandless cutting charms at the bed post barely made the slightest scratches in the lacquer. Summoning the candles was a bad idea, as they would certainly burn him, and perhaps roast the whole bed, taking him along with it. He couldn't apparate away, as the wards forbade that even though they were based on _his_ blood.

Of course! It would be a long, arduous task, but with about three minutes, he would be able to minimize the size of his forearms and lower legs, and hopefully slide them out of the cuffs! Had he not been occupied trying to fathom what adversary had trapped him, he would have grinned.

Throwing one last look about the room to look for his attacker, he prepared to close his eyes and scrunch up his face in concentration. At the last second, a face loomed out of the darkness, looking beautiful as always. She emerged from the same nook near the door that she had been standing in on that first day, and suddenly, Harry knew he would not be able to escape this adversary.

It was Tonks.

* * *

"Tonks! What-" he exclaimed, still jerking on the bed. Betrayal swam in his features as he glared at her, the shock belying the intimidation he was attempting.

She cut him off, sitting on the bed next to him. "Shush, Harry," she whispered, her soft hand cupping his cheek.

Ignoring her, he snapped "What the hell is this?" A slight smirk crossed her face as she cupped his cheeks with both hands, leaning in close. He stilled, eyes going wide in shock as her lips gently pressed against his own, leaving a tender kiss.

She drew away slowly, eyes closed, and he stared at her in utter shock. A garbled "Wha?" emerged from his lips before she claimed them again, the kiss so gentle it nearly took his breath away.

Her nose brushed against his, their lips millimeters apart as she drew away, her hands never leaving his face. His eyes were still wide open, a look of incredulity spread across his startled features.

"What," he gulped, "what are you doing?" The question sounded so stupid, yet it was entirely truthful. He hadn't a clue why she was doing this. It felt surreal…it felt like a dream to him, as there was no way the beautiful Auror would ever be in this particular position with him.

Her lips twitched slightly before they met his again, and as she pulled back to look in his eyes, she whispered "Why, Harry…I'm seducing you."

Had he not been in the situation himself, he probably would have laughed hysterically. Instead, all he could manage was the most guttural moan as she bit down lightly on his earlobe.

Her hair was no longer pink…it was jet black and long, currently draped on his chest as she hovered over him. Without the odd colors, she seemed so serious…the playful, teasing mood was replaced by the heavy, sensual actions that were capturing his mind. His mind spun, trapped amongst a maelstrom of sensations that overwhelmed him. Every sensation, from her soft lips, to the full breasts pressing into his chest, to the sudden realization that she always smelled so good…it all came together for him in a second of concentrated confusion.

"Sed-seducing me?" he stammered, eyes unfocused, "I don't get-"

She smiled and kissed him again, interrupting his disjointed speech once more. He groaned as her hands trailed down to his neck, fingers tracing hot fire across his skin. Her lips slowly massaged his, and just as he unconsciously reciprocated, they moved away, lightly brushing against his cheek. She bit down on his earlobe gently once more, eliciting a pleasing groan that seemed to spur her on. She trailed her tongue down his neck, and then lightly traced his collarbone, making him gasp.

"P-Please," he whispered, "don't…" He trailed off, interrupted by another gasp as she bit down on his neck, sucking on the skin lightly. Even as he protested, he was dimly aware of how unconvincing he sounded.

She laughed, a bright, beautiful sound, at his weak protest, her hands pressing against his chest even as her lips pressed kisses against his skin. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words that would cease her actions, but gasped loudly as her lips found his nipple, sucking on it and biting down.

"You don't want me to stop," she whispered against his skin, repeating her actions again, eliciting yet another groan of pleasure.

"Oh god…" he whispered, his back arching slightly as she bit down hard on his neck, probably hard enough to draw blood. He didn't care, he realized, even as he hated himself for the apathy he felt.

Then, she was gone, and he moaned at the absence of contact. His eyes opened, and he found himself surprised that they had closed. Opening his eyes, he was met with a sight of beauty. She was kneeling on the bed next to him, her hands gently running over the fabric of her pajamas.

"Wha?" he muttered, confused.

She smirked at him. "You don't want me to go on…" she trailed off, moving as if she was returning to her own bed.

"No!" he moaned, surprising himself with the conviction in his voice. Guilt seeped through his every vein, guilt for wanting Tonks even when he had _just_ been betrothed to another woman.

"No?" she asked, pausing. It was a huge gamble for her…Harry certainly had enough willpower to decline all that she had to offer, so tempting him like this was a risky action to take. It could have blown up in her face, and left her feeling humiliated, and it would certainly have destroyed any chance of a relationship with Harry, of _any_ sort.

"No," he whispered, sounding broken. His eyes had lost the light that they usually held, and he looked to be damning himself with that single word. While she ached to take him in her arms and comfort him, she couldn't stop now. The time was crucial, and she had to be heartless. Steeling herself, she slipped back onto the bed.

"No," she agreed, her fingers stroking his chest. Then they rose to unbutton the simple cotton shirt she wore.

**Lemon Scene Cut**

**The Lemon is posted on FicWad. Look at my bio for a link to it.**

**Lemon Scene Cut**

As her mind slowly cleared from the aftermath of the orgasm, she was struck by a maelstrom of emotions, the primary one being fear. With the action completed, what would he say? Would he reject her? She cursed herself repeatedly, damning her idiotic idea…it amounted to rape, not seduction! It wasn't seduction if he didn't reciprocate her feelings afterwards!

This was exactly why she had taken the bravery potion.

Her eyes slowly, unsurely met his, feeling his powerful green ones. Even in the slightly dim light of the room, they glowed fiercely, and she fancied that she could see a slight emerald haze below his eyebrows, emitted by those powerful orbs. She swallowed nervously, trying to think of something to say as he stared at her. The situation grew unbearable…after her stupid action, she was trapped below this muscular, strong man. This could, quite simply, have been the stupidest thing she had ever done.

Then, she was shocked as he slid up her body, fiercely pressing his lips against hers. She melted into the kiss gratefully, cupping his cheek with one hand while running her fingers through his hair.

Pulling away, he laughed lightly, caressing her cheek. "Silly girl," he whispered softly, lips brushing against hers, "you think I didn't know?"

She gaped, utterly speechless. It was her turn to mumble "Wha-?"

He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb gently touching the edge of her lips, staring deep into her eyes. "Of course I knew," he whispered, his nose brushing against hers, "you moaned it in your sleep each night."

The light entered his eyes again, glinting lustily as he bit down on her lip gently. Detaching his lips from hers, eyes shining brightly with lust, he seductively growled "Another round?"

Her last coherent thought, before he swept her away in a maelstrom of pleasure, was _'Perhaps all is not lost…'_

Then, his lips were against hers, and they dissolved together, bodies rutting together in an act as old as time. Their cries rang out in the room, amidst the sounds of their lovemaking, intertwined fingers gripped together all along.

Then, sated, they slipped into sleep, twin expressions of satisfaction on their faces.

* * *

A flash of blue light startled the sleeping occupants of the portraits in the Headmaster's office. They blinked, trying to ascertain, in the dim light, the source of the light. It looked like the arrival of a portkey, though it could have been a malfunction in any one of the trinkets that lay scattered around on the shelves. With a small crash, an object fell to the floor, a small note tied to it. They blinked again, eyes focused on the random appearance of the head of a statue.

Even of the more recently presiding Headmasters, only a few were able to recognize what the object was…the golden head of the Wizard from the statue in the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Some confusion was expressed in murmured words amongst the portraits, and a lot of irritation. Being bound to a portrait made them antsy and inquisitive, and not knowing neither the reason that the object had appeared, nor the contents of the note attached to it was irritating.

Within seconds, the guessing rose to loud volumes as the ex-Heads of Hogwarts furiously debated the meaning of this sudden appearance. Phineus Nigellus, who had actually seen the object in its current state once before, seemed to have forgotten the situation entirely. Therefore, none of the portraits noticed the slight glow from Fawkes' currently unoccupied perch.

A slight rustle of robes and an unintelligible heave of breath later, the door to the office quietly opened and closed, the portraits none the wiser. Sunken into the wall by about four feet, the opening and closing of the door wasn't visible to the portraits.

Two hours later, at 7 AM, Fawkes returned to the office. Flapping his wings, he sang a merry greeting to the inhabitants of the portraits, who smiled back. Mares Tennenbaum, however, snarled in anger. He settled on the desk, hopping a few times until the bowl of lemon drops was within pecking distance. A squawk later, the bird had picked up a lemon drop, and eaten it with glee. Enjoying it, Fawkes burst out into song again, flapping around the room once before settling on his perch.

Three things happened simultaneously: First, Fawkes landed on the perch. Second, he noticed the golden head on the ground. Third, the perch exploded in a massive boom of swirling green magic, taking Fawkes with it.

Cries of utter shock circled through the room, a cry of glee from Mares Tennenbaum added in. They were interrupted by the door to Dumbledore's personal chamber swirling open in a hurry, the aged Headmaster sweeping into the room with his wand at the ready. Ascertaining the lack of a threat immediately, his eyes turned to the source of the explosion, widening in shock.

Frantic, he sifted through the ash that had been a small cupboard of books, the perch, and his Phoenix . A few seconds later, he smiled happily, having dug Fawkes out of the ash. The disgruntled bird let out an ugly chirp as it realized that it had gone through another forced burning day. Albus blinked in confusion, contemplating a million questions. Whoever did this had Fawkes as a target…there appeared to be no harmful charms on the rest of the room. Who would want to target Fawkes? It was baffling. Talking to the portraits led him to the appearance of the golden object.

He lifted it off the ground, and shock crossed his face. He recognized this fragment very well…after all, he himself had turned it into a portkey for Harry Potter in the Ministry. Unfortunately, the note seemed to have been charred by the blast of hot air from the explosion, so he couldn't make out what it read. Snarling to himself, he stood upright.

Five minutes later, he had flooed over to Grimmauld Place. Storming through the house, he entered the kitchen, only to see Nymphadora Tonks crying, being comforted by a flummoxed Molly Weasley. It took a few minutes, but the full story came out from the weeping girl. Harry had left his house in the middle of the night, and had disappeared.

He patted her on the back comfortingly, whispering kind words to the young woman. "Do not fret, Nymphadora," he said pleasantly, "I'm sure we'll find Harry very quickly."

It was only as he thought of calling Fawkes to find the boy, did it hit him. Barely suppressing a growl of anger at being outwitted, he thought _'Very well done, Harry. Impressive, even.'_

Fawkes was disabled, Harry Potter couldn't be found, and the lad's maturity was less than two weeks away. His plans were in trouble…in _big_ trouble. This was an unexpected hurdle…and he didn't even have the wand!

Cursing, Dumbledore turned to Molly and said "Molly, please arrange for the Order to assemble in a few minutes. This is urgent, we must find Harry before anything goes wrong!"

* * *

A hundred feet below the Dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry James Potter was sleeping peacefully. He was safe for now, but it would only be a matter of time before Dumbledore realized that he was in the Chamber. He knew that Salazar's safeguards would mean that Hogwarts would not allow Dumbledore access to the Chamber…but the man had more cards up his sleeve than any other player in the game.

Rolling over, a slight smile crossed his face. Tonks would rejoin him in a few hours…

* * *

**Read and Review! NOW:P**

This was a _massive_ chapter…huge. The longest chapter yet. Inclusive of this A/N, it is: 13128 words long. I'm sorry to have to be the one to break it to you people…I'm pretty sure that future chapters won't be this long. I've been trying to cut it _down_, but the damned word count keeps increasing.

Okay…I said that I would update faster during the Summer, and I didn't really do that, since it was exactly one month ago, a few hours ago, that is, that I last updated. I am sorry about that…I shouldn't have promised anything :P. Okay…from now, my promise is this: I will update as soon as possible. I'll try not to procrastinate, and since I'm going to be writing shorter chapters, it should be okay.

Okay…for this chapter, the list of people that need to be thanked for their generous help just grows:

**Zero, IP82, cjcold, Element, Lord Serapeth, Vash…thanks a lot for your input. I hope the revisions and edits worked out.**

The people above very generously read through this massive chapter, and gave some very valuable advice, as well as pointed out flaws that I made. I hope they'll agree that the chapter is better now thanks to their efforts.

-Apocalypso

* * *

**Mr. Jbern** also deserves thanks. He showed me how to get around the glitch on FFNet...i've been trying to post this chapter for two days now. Thanks, Jim.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, slowly making their warped paths down to his eyebrows. With an irritated motion, Harry swiped the back of his hand at them, brushing them away. Yet they appeared again, the sweltering heat of the room making for an uncomfortable working environment.

The work was delicate…it could not afford the slightest damage. When working with magical elements, a simple drop of sweat could ruin his work. Pausing, he moved away from the table to reach for his Master's wand. Waving it over his body, he felt a cool gel coat his skin and hair, leaving an uncomfortable sensation for a few seconds. Quickly, the gel evaporated into nothingness, leaving him clean and cool. Normally, he would simply have used a charm to blow a cool gust of air over his body, but that would introduce sweat, hair and skin fragments to the environment.

He stood in the room clad only in a pair of trousers, leaving nothing between his body and the volatile ingredients other than air. A falling fiber from his worn shirts, a strand of hair…it could introduce an element of danger to his work that he did not care to experience again.

The last time his potion had been ruined by a strand of hair had cost him valuable time and had caused him to be at the receiving end of his Master's ire. He grimaced, removing the net that held his hair down, and ran his hand through his hair. Replacing it, he smiled slightly, the comfort of the adjustment making all the difference. Professional Potions gear wasn't made for comfort, it was made for practicality. And while this did the job by holding his hair down, it left much to be desired in terms of comfort.

He got back to work. On the table to his right was his own wand, the subject of his experiments. In the last hour, he had carefully worked with it, mindful of the fact that damaging it could be potentially debilitating to his entire magical learning. He was comfortable with this wand, at ease with its idiosyncrasies. It was entirely suited to him, so damaging it was a folly that he could not afford. No other wand would match him as this one did…his Master's wand provided him with the bare minimum of use. With enough power, he could cast any spell he desired, but it sapped his energy far too quickly.

The cylindrical shaft of wood was eleven inches long, with a diameter of exactly five eighths of an inch. Along the smooth, polished shaft were 'trenches' that he had delicately cut. They were slight depressions that ran along the length of the wand, from the handle almost to the tip, one continuous, straight line. There were four 'trenches' cut into the wand, equally spaced. Next to the wand was a metal appliance that had a pen-like tip. The tip was a tiny ball, rounded, bearing the rough texture of sandpaper. With a pen, he had drawn the lines from the tip to the handle, making sure that his measurements were precise. Then, with the 'sanding ball', he gently scratched along the lines, leaving a curved depression. Now that the trenches were completed, he was waiting. A small pile of sawdust lay near the wand, waiting for the reinsertion.

On the adjoining table was his set-up. Beakers containing various fluids sat bubbling on tripod-stands, suspended above vibrant blue magical fires. Vials bearing obscure ingredients that were too small for beakers awaited their turn. These were just cursory, for the last few hours had already indicated which of the ingredients were suited to his magic.

The process was called 'customization', a process that most Wizards didn't bother with in modern times. The almost-generic wands that Ollivander sold were good enough for the purposes of most Wizards, leaving precious few who customized their wands. Ollivander's theory of 'the wand chooses the Wizard' was true, but the wands he sold weren't entirely engineered to match a Wizard. They simply had the main core and the wood. The process of customization added extra cores to the wand, allowing for a diverse application.

Ollivander's wands were created with one purpose…to fit a particular branch of magic. Harry's father's wand had been engineered towards Transfiguration, while his mother's wand had been more apt for use with Charms. With the core of James' wand, he was unable to reach his maximum potential in Charms, since his core wasn't particularly inclined towards that branch of Magic. Harry's core was a single Phoenix Feather, encased in a Holly shaft. The core was best used for powerful spellwork, and was one of the few cores that allowed for a Wizard to reach closer to his full potential in the various fields of magic. Phoenixes were intrinsically Magical beings, unlike Hippogriffs and other more common Magical Animals, and their feathers contributed an incredibly strong conduit for a Wizard to channel his magic through. His wand allowed him to cast more complex, powerful spells, but its temperamental nature often meant less finesse in the more precise applications such as Charms and Transfiguration.

Wand customization essentially introduced new cores to the wand that were compatible both with the wand and its user. This, of course, made things complicated, since the Holly casing, the specific Phoenix feather and Harry's own magic had to be in complete agreement with the new core for it to work properly. Through trial and error, using the chest of ingredients that he took from Gilmore Alley, Harry had narrowed down his search to four new cores. Once complete, the wand would still be black, but the trenches would now be filled with a shining blood-red substance, hard to the touch. He supposed it would look 'cool', but color really didn't matter. Dumbledore seemed perfectly happy with the yellow and pink streaks on his wand, while Voldemort's bore black and grey ones. Had it not been for the fact that Dumbledore would certainly have noticed the changes made to his wand, Harry would have customized it a long time ago. Of course, getting the necessary ingredients a few years ago would have been tougher without the Metamorphmagus skills that he had been able to use.

His wand would be less temperamental now that the Unicorn teeth were introduced, for the fiery temperament of the Phoenix feather would be counteracted by the stable, docile magic of the Unicorn tooth. He would be able to use powerful spells without expecting to receive the slight backlash of magic that made his wand somewhat unresponsive, which formerly reduced the power of his spells. The Dragon's Heartstring would increase his finesse and precision with Charms, the heartstring of another inherently Magical creature providing elements to his magic that were both peaceful and volatile. The third new core was the stinger of an adult Flobberworm, which would allow him to access his maximum potential with defensive magic, infusing his shields with more power and making them sturdier. The last core was the one that aided his attempts at Transfiguration…Harry was somewhat humbled by it, for it came from a rather docile, pointless creature: the Snidget. A Snidget resembled cartoon drawings of newly hatched chicks, a yellow, almost furry creature. Though it possessed a healthy amount of magic, it seemed to never use it. The claws of a Snidget, however, would allow him to reach his maximum potential in Transfiguration.

He checked his work again, for the last time. The trenches were smooth, the wood consistently thick. At no point was the inner, main core of the Phoenix feather visible, something that Harry was more than a little relieved about. It would have ruined his efforts, and would have ruined his wand.

Painstakingly, he began the customization, following Salazar's directions to the letter. The first to come was the Unicorn teeth. Having finished testing them for compatibility, they lay in a small bowl. He took a deep breath, and got down to work, slowly tuning out all distractions, using his Occlumency to help him focus. With a pestle, he carefully ground the teeth into dust, no mean task. They were hard, but far from brittle, and it took him well over an hour to reduce the four teeth to a fine silver dust. After using a glass rod to make sure that there were no pieces that remained uncrushed, he tipped the dust onto a sheet of metal that had been religiously sterilized, as had all the other items. There was no room for error, and as an amateur, he had to extremely precise to avoid making mistakes.

He rested his wand on the metal sheet, the first trench facing skyward and ready for the customization. Using a pair of sterilized tweezers, he gently lifted the dust, taking his time to fill the trench. It took ten minutes to do so as he painstakingly made sure to avoid spilling a single grain. Then, when he had used up all the Unicorn teeth, he began lifting some of the sawdust with the tweezers, sprinkling it on top of the silvery dust. Slowly but surely, the trench was filled, the silver dust covered by a tiny layer of Holly sawdust from the scratched-out trenches. When at last the trench was finished, he slowly stood back, careful to avoid striking the table as he rose. He wiped his face off and resumed work with a new determination. He extended his arms, hands suspended in the air a mere centimeter above the wand, palms facing down.

Eyes closed, he took a deep breath, and intoned the chant that would fuse the new core with his wand.

"_Suo, redimio ex unus ut alius. Effluo profundus intus veneficus quod vultus a vinculum. Exsisto validus , polleo quod convenio effingo maioribus universus."_

He watched, mesmerized, as the sawdust and the dust of the Unicorn teeth turned into a gelatinous, almost fluid substance. It roiled around dangerously for a few seconds, and he panicked, thinking something was wrong. But he sighed in relief a second later, for the motion stopped, and the liquid hardened instantly, leaving a slightly thick red streak that ran along the black wood of his wand. Stretching, he picked up the small dish with the Snidget's claws. He sterilized the metal sheet, the bowl, the pestle and the tweezers again, using Salazar's wand to clean it instantly. Picking up the pestle, he dropped the twelve tiny claws into the bowl, and began grinding them into a fine dust.

'Now to repeat the whole process another three times,' he groaned mentally, though he knew it was necessary.

* * *

Tired, he sat back. While not spent physically, the heat of the room, the intense concentration involved in his work and the monotonous work had certainly made him far from invigorated. Shaking his head vigorously, he let his hair loose, tossing it about. Immediately, he felt cooler, and slowly walked out of the room. 

Approaching the portrait, he nodded at Salazar, saying "It's done, Master. No problems at all."

Salazar nodded contentedly. "Good. As you know, you won't be able to use it for the next eight hours or so, since the magic has not settled yet."

At Harry's nod, he continued, dryly saying "As it is, I doubt you have need for it right now. No Dark Lords to disembowel just yet, Heir." Harry grinned in response, running his hand through his hair. "Get yourself cleaned up…I should be thankful that I can't smell you."

Putting on an affronted look, Harry said in a pained voice "I'm hurt, Master. Surely I could help you out? There must be an enchantment _somewhere_ that could let you smell me and luxuriate in my pleasant odor."

Salazar snorted, turning to head back into one of the innumerable rooms painted into the far background of his portrait. "Potter, if you attempt to do that, I'll make sure to find an enchantment that will let me disown you."

Harry goggled at him, noting the slight shaking of his Master's shoulders as he stalked away. "Did you just laugh? Gods above, it's a miracle!"

Salazar snorted again, though the sound was somewhat muted by the 'distance' between them. "Go and wash up, lad, this is no time to make unfounded accusations." He smirked over his shoulder at Harry's gobsmacked expression and entered one of the rooms.

"Merlin, he just cracked a joke," mumbled Harry as he walked away, somewhat stupefied. He had _never_ heard his Master tell a joke, and his laughter was incredibly rare. "What's in that room, then?" he asked jokingly, knowing that he wouldn't get a response. Salazar had never told him exactly what the contents of his various rooms were. Harry supposed that a few nymphs or some sort of embarrassing magical creature were drawn in…after all, eternity without one of life's greatest joys would be somewhat bleak. He knew for sure that there was a wine cellar that never ran out of supplies…the portrait obviously had no need for food, but the wine was for enjoyment, not for sustenance.

He grinned as he walked towards the bathing room. The rooms of the Chamber of Secrets all bore very regal names…he supposed it had something to do with the idiot descendant who had created the large effigy of Slytherin's face. There were wooden plaques above each room that solemnly announced the 'title' of the room, such as 'The Bathing Room' and 'The Great Library'. When he had first entered this section of the Chamber, he had been taken aback by the _opulence_ of the place…the silliest of things had been made ornate and regal. Of course, he had gotten rid of most of the adornments as soon as possible…they just didn't fit the _mood_ of the Chamber. He supposed that the idiot descendant had turned the Chamber into a shrine dedicated to Salazar, something that Harry's Master was most assuredly disgruntled about. After all, the four hundred years that had passed on the outside since the Chamber was…_gilded_, so to speak, had been torturously longer for Salazar, thanks to the time-distortion. Harry was rather relieved to find that the cretin had not settled in as a ghost…the last thing he needed was a fanatical moron of a ghost to play sycophant and praise every word that Salazar spoke to him. It would hardly have been conducive to his learning.

He quickly stripped off and dove into the pool, surfacing to let out a shriek of surprise. The water was _frigid_, absolutely freezing cold. Shivering, he stumbled out of the water, collapsing onto the fluffy towel that he had transfigured all those years ago. With a quivering hand, he wandlessly cast a warming charm on the water, his teeth chattering enough to nearly ruin the incantation. Finally, he slipped back in, though it took a full minute for his shivers to entirely subside. For a while, he swam lengths in the pool, slowly feeling the burn in his muscles. After an hour, he emerged, skin slightly shriveled by the warm water. He took his time toweling off, having always hated rushing himself in this particular action. He always seemed to get slightly sweaty if he hurried himself after a warm bath…and there truly was no need for him to hurry.

He slipped on a pair of boxers and clothed himself in a simple white t-shirt and a pair of light blue jeans, tugging on his socks and boots with some difficulty. Leaving the room, he popped into the Potions lab for a minute to pick up his Master's wand and a wand-holster. It never hurt to be prepared…indeed, it was pure folly to venture into the Forbidden Forest without any means of protecting yourself. Unicorns, Thestrals and birds apart, there were far more insidious creatures that resided there, notably the Centaurs, the odd snake and the massive family of arachnids that Aragog was the head of. And while these were dangerous, there were Vampires, Vixens, Hags and the odd Cave-Troll that had also set up their quaint little abodes in the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore's yearly warnings were no joke…the forest played host to some of the most dangerous creatures that the Magical World had to offer. Thinking twice, he strapped the sheath of one of his daggers onto his belt-loop, letting it hang by his side.

While Salazar's wand was powerful, Harry was unable to use it with the best of effects. At most, it allowed him to reach half of his maximum potential. While this didn't seem like much, Harry would still be able to cast a fair number of spells with it, and it would serve satisfactorily in the event of an attacking creature. Unless he was met by a Vampire, which was unlikely in this part of the Forest, he would be able to handle any other creature that attempted to harm him.

He knelt to do up the laces on his boots, setting his small communicating mirror on the ground in front of him. As he did, he saw the brief flash of light along the engraved name on the back, the name of a man who he increasingly resembled. Contrary to what Ron and Hermione believed, he had _not_ forgotten about the mirror before going to the Ministry. He _had_ attempted to contact Sirius through it, but his whispered calls while mounted on the back of the Thestral must have either been unintelligible to Sirius, or Sirius had simply left his mirror in the pocket of another pair of robes. Unfortunately, he had had to feign stupidity by admonishing himself for not using the mirror, for Ron and Hermione had no clue that he had been using it on a regular basis to communicate with Sirius. Had they known, it would have been mere days, as inconsequential as the information was, before Dumbledore was aware that Harry had a way to contact Sirius within a moment's notice. That could not be allowed, as far as Dumbledore was concerned, and it would unobtrusively go missing somehow, never to be seen again.

As he tied his laces tightly, he called out "Nymphadora Tonks." The reflective surface of the mirror swam as if a pebble had fallen into a vat of still water, rippling towards the circular edges. When it cleared, the surface was black, indicating that Tonks had her mirror inside the pocket of her robe.

A few seconds later, he heard a rustle of fabric as the mirror was drawn out of a pocket, and the view cleared, light finally drawing across it. A second later, Tonks' face filled the circular 'screen', and she smiled beautifully at him, drawing a smile onto his face too.

"Hi," he said stupidly, still grinning at her.

She blew him a kiss smilingly, making him blush. Inwardly he cursed, damning his shyness. He had had no problem being entirely intimate with her last night, but a simple gesture could make him blush. Earlier, he had no problem controlling his reactions to her jokes, but apparently the last night had changed things.

"Hiya Harry," she said, smiling at him.

"Are you alone?" he inquired, standing up as he finished tying his laces. She nodded, and he continued "Are you busy now, or are you coming by as planned?"

She frowned slightly, biting her lip. He found the action endearing, and smiled at her. "Yeah, I'm done over here. We'll talk when I get there, alright? There's a few things that I have to tell you, and I think we need to talk a bit about last night."

He sobered up instantly. "Okay," he agreed, "just apparate to the Shrieking Shack and walk Northeast for about a hundred yards until you're into the Forest. I'll meet you there, okay?"

She nodded, smiling again. "Alright. Bye," she said, closing the connection, but not before blowing him another kiss. He managed to stop himself from blushing this time.

Putting the mirror into his pocket, he strapped the holster onto his right arm as he walked. It took him a minute to reach his intended location, an exit situated in one of the many tunnels of the Chamber.

"_Dissendium,"_ he muttered, and with a creak that signified the rare use of the door, the large stone wall slid to the side, revealing a passage that sloped upwards for about thirty yards. Reaching the end of the passage, he climbed the short spiraling staircase that was reminiscent of the one that led to Dumbledore's office. The top of the staircase was blocked by the bottom of a truly massive boulder, and he tapped it with his knuckle, repeating _"Dissendium."_ Fred and George would have had a field day if they had known that there was such an easy access to the Chamber.

Silently, the boulder rolled away from the hole that it covered, and Harry winced as a few pebbles and clumps of dirt rolled onto the stairs. He waved his hand to clear them, levitating them off the stairs and tossing them out into the woods nearby with a flick of his wrist. He climbed the last few stairs to leave, hissing _"Close,"_ to make the boulder roll back into place.

Softly whistling the tune to a song he had heard on Dudley's old radio, he walked towards the Shrieking Shack, a good half mile away. Tonks would have to wait for a few minutes, that was hardly an inconvenience for her. As he walked, despite the cheery, unconcerned disposition that he seemed to emote, he was aware, eyes calmly scrutinizing his environment, ready to move into action in case of an attack.

It was about ten minutes later that he saw Tonks. She was about twenty yards into the trees, sitting on the grass and leaning against a tree. She was whistling, tossing small berries towards a somewhat intimidated squirrel. The squirrel cocked its head to the side, staring at her inquisitively, and flinched when a berry landed near it. Haltingly, it approached the berry, looking towards Tonks to make sure that she was sitting still, and then grabbed it, sitting up on its hind legs to bring the berry to its mouth, gnawing at it experimentally.

Then it let out a shriek, dropping the berry in disgust, and scurried away, hopping its way up a nearby tree. Tonks scowled, muttering "Well screw you too."

Harry laughed, announcing his presence, making Tonks jump. "God," she said, moving towards him, "you could have announced yourself instead of sneaking up on me." But she wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling fondly at him.

He grinned down at her, kissing the tip of her nose. "Aw, what's the fun in that?"

She laughed, standing on her toes to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the air, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist as he stood. Pulling away, she waggled her eyebrows at him playfully, smirking "Well, Harry, you certainly seem ready to play."

He grinned at her as her beautiful face hovered over his, her arms around his neck. "Wanna play doctor?" he asked, grinned as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed happily, though a slight blush crept onto her face. "Oh Doctor Harry," she said, affecting a pained voice, "I have this pain…." He cut her off, kissing her lovingly, enjoying the feel of her soft lips against his own. When they parted, breathless, she leaned her forehead against his, eyes still closed. "Oh yes," she breathed softly, "I think I feel a lot better already."

Reluctantly, he set her down, taking her right hand in his. "Come on," he said, though he leaned in to kiss her again, "we should get going."

They walked slowly back to the Chamber's forest entrance, and she removed her hand from his, instead wrapping it around his waist. He gave her a lopsided smile at the action, putting his arm around her shoulders and giving a slight squeeze.

"Y'know," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked, "I reckon you've got competition."

"Oh?" he inquired, looking sideways at her, "How so?"

She smirked, replying "Well, I got hit on today." She looked up at him, and was somewhat surprised to find herself pleased by the way his jaw tightened and his arm held her more possessively.

"Really?" he asked, though the pleasantness of the question seemed a tad forced. His smile seemed genuine enough, but still, there was something…off about it.

"Yep." She was milking it, feeling quite happy with how he was reacting. "It was Lupin," she said, setting her head back on his shoulder, leaning into his strong grip, "he tried to 'comfort' me after the crying scene."

She chanced a look at him again, and was once again pleased as she saw him swallow, the muscles on his neck standing taut. A second later, he looked fine, and she blinked in astonishment, wondering if she had imagined it.

"Interesting," he said, looking anything but interested, "What did he do?"

"Well," she said slowly, hugging him a little tighter, "he told me that he felt very sorry about what happened. He said, and I quote, _'Would you like to go get some tea and talk about it? I really like you, Tonks, and I don't like seeing you this way.'_"

"Uh-huh," Harry said. He seemed cheerful enough, a slight smile on his face as he looked about at the lush, green forest.

Tonks decided to stop dragging things out, and said "Well, I told him that I wanted to be alone, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. He started getting a bit possessive, trying to convince me to be with him. I closed my eyes, since I had to make the tears flow again, and the next thing I know, he's trying to kiss me."

Here, she paused, but out of shock. Harry had stopped walking, and was staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, and his hands curled tightly into fists. "What?" he asked, looking at her. His cheerful disposition had evaporated, Tonks saw, and it was plainly obvious to Tonks that he had been faking it before.

Quickly, Tonks wrapped her arms around him, softly saying "Relax, Harry. Calm down." It took a few seconds, but she slowly felt the tension in his muscles relax. She shivered slightly, feeling aroused by the tightly coiled strength that she could feel in his muscles, her entire body being pressed against his.

He wrapped his arms around her gently, hugging her against him tightly. He bent his head down, nestling it against hers as she rested her chin on his shoulder, feeling her cheek against his. She smiled, and he felt her cheek move against his as she turned slightly. Turning, he was met with her beautiful face smiling at him, and he felt his heart go flip-flop. Smiling weakly, he whispered "Go on."

She nodded, continuing "Well, I pushed him away from me and told him to leave me alone. He tried to get all soft with me again, but I wouldn't have any. I told him frankly that he's fifteen years older than I am, and that I don't want a thing to do with him. He finally left, but said something along the lines of _'You'll eventually realize that we were meant for each other.'_ If the git wasn't so close to you, I'd have slapped him for coming on to me like that."

Harry scowled, growling out "I wish you _had_ slapped the bastard." She raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic anger, and he shook his head, muttering "Let's just say that I'm not very fond of Lupin. He had an obligation to raise me, or at least visit every once in a while, but he didn't. Not once. For someone who practically sponged off my parents for three or four years after Hogwarts…" He trailed off, looking like he didn't particularly care to discuss it.

Tonks, understanding immediately, didn't press him. She understood exactly what he was saying. Lupin was as close to the Potters as Sirius was. The _least _of his obligations was to at least periodically check in on Harry, to make sure that someone who was practically a surrogate nephew was healthy and living well. The fact that he hadn't bothered to even send a _letter_ to Harry in twelve years was something that Harry could be justly irritated about. After all, considering the way he grew up, a _single_ visit from Lupin could have changed things for him. She wanted to hear more, as she had thought that the Potters had distanced themselves from Lupin, as they thought that he might have been the traitor, but this wasn't the time. According to Harry, however, Lupin had continued to be close to them even when they had been in hiding.

She kissed his cheek, and bit down on his earlobe, whispering "I never liked men with mustaches anyways." He laughed, gazing fondly at her. He kissed her gently, a warm peck on the lips.

"Come on," he said, "it's starting to get dark, so we should probably get inside. I'll cook dinner."

She shook her head as she walked with him, arm again around his waist, her head on his shoulder. "No need…I brought food with me. Dropped by the Leaky Cauldron on my way over and picked up two piping hot plates of Tom' Special."

Harry grinned. "Great."

They walked on in silence for a minute, having reached halfway to the Chamber. The sun was setting, and with the overcast sky, it made for a beautiful red glow through the white clouds in the distance, crowned by the sharp contrast provided by the murky, foreboding grey clouds that hovered above them, slowly making their way towards the sun. They were silent, walking peacefully as they gazed upon this wonder of nature.

Harry's attention was pulled away by the faint clatter of hooves, and he stiffened. Beside him, Tonks heard the noise too, and she tensed, prepared for anything. They edged towards the shade of a particularly large rock, attempting to move behind it.

They were unfortunately thwarted when the pace of the hooves grew faster, the noise getting closer. A few seconds later, it had roared to a crescendo, the sound deafening under the canopy of the trees, and a little over ten Centaurs exploded out of the foliage, thundering to a stop before them. Each bore a bow and a quiver of arrows, save for a few who also had pointed spears strapped to their backs with ropy vines.

The metal gleamed in the light, dangerously pointed at them. The group slowly fanned out in a semicircle, trapping them in the clearing. There were no trees to hide behind immediately, for an arrow would surely strike them before they could cover the distance. One emerged from the middle, holding his spear in both hands.

"Hello, Harry Potter," it began, deceptively calm, "I am Bane."

Harry nodded. "I know." Tonks didn't look at him, but she could feel the danger in his voice.

"Then, Harry Potter," the Centaur continued, his face twisting into a hateful glare, "you know that your life is forfeit once you enter our Forest."

Harry scoffed at their vanity. "Your forest, Centaur? Don't be ridiculous."

Bane laughed dismissively. "You humans are always so amusing with your foolish preconceptions. The Forbidden Forest is the domain of the Centaurs, Harry Potter, it has always been that way. The Forest belongs to us, and we are the ones who decide the fate of those that enter it."

Harry sneered at the uppity Centaur, not bothering to mask his dislike for the creature. He had nothing against Centaurs…indeed, he found Firenze to be extremely enlightened, a being of wisdom, albeit a confusing form of wisdom. Bane, on the other hand… "Having a pair of opposable thumbs doesn't make you superior to the other creatures in this Forest, Bane. I daresay Aragog and his tribe of Arachnids have disciplined you uppity horses more than a few times. Perhaps a Cave-Troll or a Vampire decided that Horse meat would be tasty."

Bane bristled in anger, as did the others. "Silence!" he commanded, glaring hatefully. "You are no longer a foal, and Magorian is not present to save you this time. Neither is the traitor Firenze present."

"Bane," Harry said calmly, looking unruffled, "is this really necessary? We are simply taking a stroll in the woods, not trying to establish control over this forest."

There was no need for a fight…why start a fight when you were grossly outnumbered? Apparating was impossible, for the Hogwarts anti-Transportation wards extended almost into Hogsmeade, thus prohibiting the use of Portkeys as well. Harry could have discreetly tried to use the Imperius charm, or attempted to possess Bane, but there was no guarantee of success. He wasn't receiving a single stray thought through Passive Legilimency, and his previous contact with Firenze earlier in the year had made it quite obvious that Centaurs were masters of their minds. While simply casting the Imperius would buy him a few seconds of confusion, there were more than _ten_ other opponents on the field. Similarly, Confundus charms wouldn't work, and trying to magically cause a distraction would be useless, as the Centaur would surely dispatch two or three of his friends to investigate the disturbance rather than lose his concentration on Harry.

Bane laughed mockingly. "A stroll in the _Forbidden Forest_? Very unlikely, Harry Potter. Make no mistakes, human, you and your woman will die. I wanted to dispose of you one month ago when you foolishly tried to take advantage of the Centauri. Now, I will succeed."

"Very well," Harry tried, though he was inwardly losing his patience "we will leave. We will turn around and walk back to Hogsmeade, and will not enter the Forest again." There was an entrance to the Chamber near the lake, and while it was a long walk, it would eliminate the need for senseless violence.

Bane simply smirked at him, patronizingly waving his finger in a no-no gesture.

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was no other option. They were spoiling for a fight, and wouldn't take no for an answer. There were too many of them to try intimidation…even graphically butchering one would serve to do nothing more than incite even more anger into them. He could attempt to bargain, but Centaurs were almost ascetic in the simplicity of their lives. There was nothing that Harry could offer them that would allow them to escape unscathed. He opened his mouth to make a half-hearted attempt at soothing the Centaur's ego, but was stopped by Tonks.

Tonks blinked, putting her hand on Harry's to stop him, and stepped forward. "Did you just threaten me?" she inquired, her voice deceptively calm.

Bane smirked at her, and seeing him, a few of the other Centaurs smirked too. "Huh," muttered Tonks. "You see," she continued, "I am not a 'foal', as you so _quaintly_ put it, horsy, I am what is known to you as an Auror. Now, if you make a _single_ threatening move towards my companion or myself, I will not hesitate to kill you. You see, in the Magical World, which happens to be run by _humans_, it isn't a crime to murder a creature."

Bane blinked. "You dare to talk to us derogatively?" he roared, looking furious, "You _dare_ to insinuate that you humans are superior to us?"

Tonks laughed in his face. "It isn't an insinuation, horse." Harry, beside her, saw one of the Centaurs twitch towards the back.

Immediately, he grabbed onto Tonks' hand, pulling her to the ground as an arrow shot through the air where they were standing. He crouched on the balls of his feet, the fingers of his left hand pressed against the ground between his knees. His right hand shot up, his wand instantly appearing in it.

Crouched, he snarled _"Concrema!"_ A blast of steam, perfectly spherical, rocketed out of his wand, hitting the Centaur who fired the arrow in the face at high speed.

An instant later, there was a scream of pure pain from the Centaur as the skin on his face, his eyes, his hair and his unfortunately opened mouth were all scalded by a terrible heat. His skin virtually melted off his face, the face itself transforming into a melted glob of flesh, his burst eyes dangling out of his eye-sockets. With a loud thump, the Centaur fell sideways, hitting the ground hard. He was dead, there was no question about it…his face was an unrecognizable hunk of pus and flesh, the charred bone of his skull visible through the gaps left by the oozing skin. The _Concrema_ curse, when underpowered, was used by Aurors to scald their opponents into submission, earning the victim light burns. The fallen Centaur, however, was the result of an overpowered curse, resulting in a ball of steam hot enough to melt metal. The Centaur never stood a chance.

Bane stared, shocked, at his fallen comrade. Turning, his face growing rapidly red, he screamed "Kill them! Kill both of them!" There was a flurry of action as eight of the Centaurs began firing arrows and throwing spears at the two humans. The air was ringing with the frustrated battle cries of the Centaurs as they viciously tried to hunt down the two humans. The other four held their ground, 'guarding' Bane. As far as Harry knew, Bane held no real position within the Centaur herd, so there was apparently a faction of Human-Hating Centaurs that now roamed the Forest like vigilantes.

In an almost coordinated move, Harry and Tonks both leapt sideways, conjuring identical shields to protect them from the incoming projectiles. Together, they jabbed their wands forward, incanting _"Aegis!"_ With a tearing sound, a glowing silver shield appeared in front of each of them, the arrows striking and breaking against them.

Tonks immediately rolled sideways when she hit the ground, absorbing the impact, and rising explosively to slash her wand towards the nearest Centaur, who was busy stringing an arrow into his bow. As he watched in horror, she snarled _"Inviscico!"_

A pale blue beam shot out of her wand as she moved forwards, striking the Centaur above the heart. A gash nearly a foot across tore into his chest and ribs, impacting with enough force to carry forward, slashing through his lungs and out of his back, severing his spinal cord. With a wet sound, the upper portion of the Centaurs dissected body rolled forwards and off his torso, hanging on to the creature's body by a thick rope of flesh on his right.

She didn't pause to look, reversing the momentum of her hand to conjure another shield. As the shield sprang up around her in a timely fashion, a spear struck it, falling to the ground harmlessly. Tonks, allowing the shield to be the only barrier between herself and the Centaurs, sprinted across the grass to take refuge behind a tree. Fighting in the open would just get her killed.

As pleasant and happy-go-lucky as she was, Nymphadora Tonks knew when to dispose of her well-meaning intentions and take a fight seriously. Being an Auror, and that too a female one in a largely male-dominated profession, had taught her to be decisive and forceful when needed. When the going got rough, Nymphadora Tonks had made herself a reputation in the Auror forces for being unforgiving in her retaliation. She was peaceable at most times, but she would not back down from a fight, and always used the same mentality: _'If you hit them hard at first, they won't be there to irritate you later.'_ It was why Kingsley Shacklebolt had introduced her to the Order. If she was honest with herself, a good fight made her almost exultant…but it was something that she was somewhat ashamed of, and made a large effort in trying to be overly peaceable until disproportionately provoked.

This fight had to be lethal. Their opponents were hardly trying to knock them out…this was kill or be killed, and as the daughter of Andromeda _Black_ Tonks, Tonks was more than slightly knowledgeable about the Dark Arts and the more destructive Light ones. Andromeda was disowned when she was twenty six…her upbringing, however, had closely acquainted her with the magic that most 'respectable' families used, especially those that took pride in their 'dark' reputation.

Harry, now thirty feet away, moved similarly, having rolled out of his leap to emerge under the nearest Centaur. With his dagger in his left hand, he jammed it upwards, stabbing the entire ten inch blade into the Centaur's stomach and dragging it viciously across, ignoring the loud scream of pain as the Centaur above him collapsed sideways, dying a terribly painful death. Simultaneously, with his other hand bearing the wand, he made a jagged slice in the air, muttering _"Vivisectus Inflammare!"_

An eight-foot vertical pillar of flaming green light emerged from his wand, tearing into another Centaur with force, striking it in the middle of the chest. With a loud explosion of flesh, it tore straight into its body, shredding organs, muscles and bones alike. It tore entirely through the human portion of its body, _and_ through the equine portion, dissipating mere inches from the beast's rump. With its weight unstable, the Centaur seemed to split in two equal parts, opening like a grotesque, fleshy envelope, a bucketful of blood pouring out.

For an instant, it stood parted open, revealing the innards of the creature, and then flopped forward, caving in with a wet smack of flesh and blood until the only discernable feature of the being it used to be was the brown rear legs attached to the blood-smeared rump. Harry just moved on, immediately moving towards the nearest tree, pouring magic into his shield to keep it stable under the onslaught of arrows. Hiding _under_ a Centaur had bought him some time, as the others were wary of accidentally injuring their comrade, but now he was at the receiving end of the anger of three other Centaurs, and in the open.

Tonks hissed as an arrow whizzed by, cutting her cheek and leaving a deep gash. Apparently, the Centaurs who were 'guarding' Bane weren't non-combatants at the moment. They were rapidly stringing arrows into their bows, nearly frothing at the mouth in hatred as they released them. Blood slowly began flowing from the cut, leaving a streak on her cheek. She moved along the circumference of the tree as a Centaur stormed towards her, using its spear like a jouster. As it shot past her, already wheeling sideways to make another run at her, she jabbed her wand towards it, snarling _"Explodra!"_

The Explosion curse struck the ground below the Centaur, causing a massive explosion to tear it apart and buffet the creature nearly twenty feet into the air, a rain of blood and dirt peppering the area. Her eyes widened as she noticed that a Centaur now had a clear shot at her. Smirking, it pulled back the bowstring on its bow, and Tonks found herself tripping over the thick roots of the tree, at an absolutely _crucial_ time. She nearly laughed as the Centaur released the arrow, causing it to whizz through the air inches above her elbow. Ignoring her good luck for the time being, she drew a circle in the air with her wand, jerking it backwards as she muttered _"Destructovis Invectus!"_

A streak of white light blasted out of her wand with a bang, striking the Centaur in the chest even as it frantically tried to turn away from it. With a heave, the air was driven from its lungs as it was tossed off the ground like a rag doll. The last thing it did was scream in terror as the constriction in its chest did not stop there. With a disgusting _squelch_ of wet meat, the Centaur imploded, its chest caving in, shortly followed by the rest of its body. A fine red and grey mist dotted the huge yellow-brown boulder behind it as the Centaur's body was spread over a thirty square yard area. Tonks immediately ducked behind the tree again, using the thick trunk as cover. While they were good, the Centaurs weren't good enough with bows to strike her hand squarely at a distance of twenty yards. She was able to peek out from behind the tree and aim inaccurate potshots at them.

With a rushed wave of his wand, Harry vanished the bow-string of the Centaur aiming at him, causing the creature to fumble when the resistance offered by the string suddenly disappeared. Without pause, Harry leapt forward, his dagger in his right hand now. With a vicious stab, he plunged the dagger into the Centaur's chest, an inch below its sternum, using his momentum as well as the firmly-lodged blade to heave himself off the ground, swinging in a wild arc in the air. With a thump, he landed on the creature's back, his boot-clad feet landing hard enough to knock the heavy Centaur over as it died, the tight grip of his hand on the dagger causing the blade to be wrenched sideways and out of the beast's body, tearing its chest wide open as it fell.

His landing was soft, padded by the Centaur's body, and he immediately leapt out of the way of a spear, nearly laughing as the spear eventually lodged into the fallen Centaur's lower body. As he moved, he switched his wand back to his right hand, flicking it upwards to silently cast an overpowered levitation charm. It worked magnificently, tossing the spear-wielding Centaur to rocket a few hundred feet into the air and back down to the rocky earth that welcomed it. With a scream of horror that grew louder as it fell earthwards, it was interrupted and silenced by the loud, fleshy thump caused by its body striking the ground. Rather than make an idiotic mistake like standing still to gaze at the horrorstruck Centaur 'flying', Harry used the time to make a wild dash towards the trees.

Tonks ducked behind the tree as an arrow whizzed past dangerously close, grimacing as she felt a slight gust of air brush against her face. Darting out from behind the cover with a shield already conjured, the two arrows that now approached were deflected. It would have been folly to conjure the shield _after_ leaving the cover, as arrows certainly moved faster than she could cast a spell.

Reversing the movement of her wand, she slashed it the other way, snapping _"Discerpo!"_ The piercing hex was slightly overpowered, causing a hole the size of a bludger to appear in the center of a Centaur's chest. With wide, shocked eyes, it looked down at the gaping hole, and then collapsed. Tonks simply darted behind the next tree, knowing that watching the Centaur die would be both foolish and sickening. She disillusioned herself, grinmacing at the uncomfortable sensation of a slick, wet substance flowing over her body and clothes. But it was of no use…their eyes were supernormal, and as soon as she tried to peek around the tree, a Centaur spotted her fluid, hazy form, immediately hissing in anger and stringing a new arrow. Still, being disillusioned was far better than being completely visible, and she made a dash for another tree, a much thicker, sturdier one than the one she was currently hiding behind.

A spear was thrown at her as she ran, and she dodged, but hissed in pain when the wooden handle drifted sideways due to the jagged throw, striking her on the arm. She stumbled, losing her balance, only to rise a second later, wand at the ready. A hissed _"Waddiwassi!"_ sent the offending spear back at the Centaur who threw it, and in a vain attempt to fly up its nose, the spear literally tore the Centaur's head off, leaving a fleshy patch where its jaw used to be.

About half the Centaurs were down, the rest still screaming in anger, firing arrows at them with new vengeance. Harry moaned in pain as he was struck in the calf, the arrow tearing through his flesh as he tried to leap out of the way. Tonks screamed as an arrow struck her in the shoulder, making her body spin sideways as she fell. Unfortunately for her, she fell face-down, and with horror in her eyes, she realized what was about to happen. The shaft of the arrow was protruding straight out from her shoulder, and as she landed, the base struck the ground first, her weight falling _onto_ the arrow. With a terrible scream of pain accompanying the motion, the arrow was driven _through_ her shoulder and out of her back. She collapsed, crying in pain, her form wracked in agony. Unluckily for her, the wooden shaft was magically strengthened, and refused to simply snap under her weight, instead pushing further into her flesh and emerging from behind her.

Harry let loose another _Concrema_ curse, but missed, stumbling because of the arrow lodged in his calf. He fell to his knees, raising his wand weakly as he bled. The Centaurs had wheeled about to face him, Tonks having slowly crawled towards him, tears on her cheeks because of the pain. He screamed in agony as one of them fired an arrow at his hand. He tried to move, but wasn't fast enough, and the arrow struck him on the thumb, striking it with enough force to nearly tear the appendage off. His wand was knocked out of his hand, falling to the ground a few feet away. Screaming in agony, he doubled over, tears leaking down his cheeks due to the pain. His left hand dropped the dagger to the ground in front of him as he cradled his torn right hand.

He looked up through wet eyes as he heard Bane laugh. The bastard Centaur had not fought, instead choosing to wait as his comrades tried to kill Harry, about four other Centaurs 'guarding' the overbearing horse where he stood. Bane took two steps forward, putting him at the head of his group. With a thrust, he stabbed the end of his spear into the mud before him, ready to draw it out if necessary.

"So, Human, how does it feel? You're about to die, and I will do the honors myself. Then, Harry Potter, I will kill your companion. I will break her, and I will kill her." He laughed again, sounding pleased with himself.

Slowly, the pain receded to a bearable level, Harry's Occlumency working hard to stave off the pressure that threatened to take him into blissful unconsciousness. It took him a minute to reign himself back under control, and he noticed that Bane was waiting for an answer from him.

Slowly he straightened himself out, closing his eyes. His face screwed up in concentration as he focused on his thumb. He wasn't good enough to heal this by himself…he would have to wait until Tonks could walk him through it properly. Slowly, he siphoned the magic away, steeling himself for the pain that was surely about to come. A second later, he screamed again, his face wracked with agony. The last bit of bone and flesh holding his thumb together tore apart, letting the thumb fall to the floor. Tears streaming from his eyes, he slowly healed the stub that was left, using his Metamorph skills as well as his wandless magic to cover the stump with skin even as he numbed the stump with his magic. Tonks, even through her pain, hissed in shock at the action, moving closer to him, laying her hand on his thigh.

Bane was staring at him. "You are a Metamorphmagus, are you, Harry Potter?" he sneered, having gleefully watched as the pain wracked Harry's body. Rather than end the fight by plunging his spear into Harry's body, the Centaur had chosen to lord his triumph over the humans, chosen to play stupid word-games as his enemies groveled before him.

He slowly blinked away the tears, looking up at Bane's smirking face. Harry cocked his head to the side, breathing deeply, and then hawked up a gob of red spit, spitting on the ground between them. He used the back of his left hand to wipe his mouth, looking up at Bane with a savage expression.

"Die," he spat eyes glaring hatefully at him. In one move, he dragged the palm of his right hand across the blade of his dagger, cutting deeply into his skin, and immediately raised his left hand to rub along his forearm, squeezing blood into the palm of his hand. In less than three seconds, a small pool of blood formed. As soon as the word left Harry's mouth, Bane snarled at him, his hand moving to grasp his spear tightly, tearing it out of the ground.

As Bane pulled the spear back in his hands, making to fling it at Harry's chest, Harry swung his hand back, and flung it forward, throwing the handful of blood into the air as he quickly chanted words in an arcane language, his voice booming in the woods even though he was whispering them.

"_Teslen Abido Afirze!" _he whispered, his voice building to a crescendo. Despite his savage snarl, Harry was afraid, more afraid than he had ever been before. What he was attempting was something that he had only studied, never attempted. To attempt something of this magnitude while within the Chamber would have been utter stupidity. That much was verified a second later.

The blood floated in the air, moving towards Bane and the other Centaurs. For Harry, everything slowed down to a crawl, and through wide eyes, he watched the result of his magic. Bane's mouth was contorted into a scream of anger, his lips slowly moving to form the hateful words that he yelled. Harry could not understand what Bane was saying, as the words were stretched to a ridiculous degree, sounding like an amorphous, unintelligible groan. He saw the muscles on Bane's arm flex as the Centaur flung the spear forward, the sharp metal tip moving inch-by-inch towards Harry. The Centaurs in the background seemed to move even slower, one slowly rising on its hind legs in its ire, the others swaying slightly as they moved at snail's pace. Beside him, Tonks' face was frozen in a look of surprise as her eyes stared at his outstretched hand. His face a few inches behind hers, he suddenly realized that he, too, was moving incredibly slow, the fingers of his hand slowly moving upwards, taut and outstretched, blood still staining them.

Then, everything sped back up, leaving him disoriented. As Bane's arm rushed forward to fling the spear, the handful of blood ignited. With a loud BOOM of noise, the small handful of blood burst into a swirling green and black flame, the size of a small house. With the force of a tidal wave, it struck Bane, and then the rest of the Centaurs, tossing the flying spear away like a rag-doll. There was an almighty explosion of magic, causing the horrified Centaurs to explode in a veritable mist of blood and organs, and the wave of magic plowed forth, tearing through the forest with all the tact of a rampaging rhino. Trees, rocks...they were all crushed by the force of the magic, exploding into splinters and tiny shards that were quickly reduced to dust. The wave rampaged forward for about thirty feet before it dissipated, leaving a smoldering clearing in front of Harry.

The ground was torn up, the trees and rocks reduced to dust, and a slight fog of smoke hung in the air, a pervading silence crowning the devastation. Above the clearing, through a gap in the overcast sky, Harry saw the sun shining down on them. Blankly, he stared at it, the beauty of the scene lost on him. The orange hue of the sun cast a similar glow on the clouds right around it, and through the humid air, Harry imagined he could see the individual rays beating down upon the clearing through the gap in the clouds. Then, the sun was swallowed by the billowing plumes of nearly-black clouds, and an ominous flash of lightning split the sky in half, tearing a jagged path across the horizon. As Harry closed his eyes, he heard the rumble of thunder, followed by the soft pitter-patter of the raindrops. Water trickled down his face, dotting his shirt with wet spots.

Harry blinked, remaining silent. He was spent, his bound magic causing the depletion to take a magnified toll on his body. He would be little above a squib for the next day or two, barely capable of the smallest of charms. Breathing heavily, he knelt, feeling the rain grow heavier, washing some of the dirt and blood off his body. Slowly, he got to his feet, moving towards Tonks. She was staring at him, utterly gobsmacked, her jaw hanging. He crouched next to her, still silent, examining her injury. The arrow was lodged into her shoulder, the metal tip having protruded out of the flesh by a few inches. Slowly, he put his palm out, facing the short part of the shaft that could be seen. With a whispered _"Diffindo,"_ a small bolt of red magic emerged from his hand, gently cutting through the wooden shaft. Tonks had expected to feel some pain, but the magic cut through the wood like a laser, simply sawing it off without causing the wooden shaft to move at all.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded at him, steeling herself for the pain. In a quick movement, Harry grasped the feathered end of the arrow's shaft, and pulled it out of her shoulder, causing her to scream in pain. Quickly, he cast a mild healing charm on the wound with his wand, following it up with a pain-dulling charm. This would have to do for now…the wound would require a Healing potion to finish the process. Breathing deeply, he repeated the process on his own wound, removing the arrow with a scream of pain, and doing his best in healing the wound. Slowly, he helped her to her feet, supporting her by wrapping his arm around her waist, leaning on her just as much as she leaned on him. For now, he was a squib…those simple charms had drained the last of his magic.

He retrieved his dagger, as well as her wand. Then, he silently led her away, returning to the Chamber.

Five minutes later, as the huge rock rolled away to reveal the opening to the Chamber of Secrets, Harry spoke for the first time since the fight.

"Blood Magic," he told a still shocked Tonks. "I think I just found the _Power the Dark Lord knows not_."

* * *

Later that night, they sat in silence, facing the crackling fire in the Chamber. Tonks had slowly walked Harry through the process of restoring his thumb, and though it had taken a good hour and a half, he had accomplished it. Luckily, the magic that was used for Metamorph transformations was separate from a Wizard's magic. Otherwise, his current state of Magical Exhaustion would have meant living without a thumb for a few days. They had taken healing potions, and after a few minutes of discomfort as their wounds knitted together, they were as good as new. Tonks had been gracious enough to cast cleaning charms on each of them, getting rid of the sweat, blood and grime that had stained their skin. Though the fight had been strenuous, and the lost blood had been taxing, neither felt tired. The plates of food languished on the table nearby, neither having felt the urge to eat. For the most part, they had remained silent for the past few hours, mulling over thoughts that threatened to break to the surface. 

Harry was silent, his gaze lost amongst the glowing embers of the fire. His mind was tossing and turning, unable to discard the memory of the level of gore that he had been witness to and _cause of_. Through the violent images that attacked his mind, he sat silent, unwilling to let them overwhelm him. He wanted to take Tonks into his arms, to be comforted by her, but was reluctant. He had no way of knowing what she was experiencing, had no way of knowing what she was thinking about. He didn't want to touch her, didn't want to approach her, unwilling to make her recoil from him. Perhaps he was being unrealistic, perhaps he was being downright idiotic…but the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. She had been as silent as him all evening, having seemed a little shocked after his display with the Centaurs. He sighed silently, trying to stop himself from looking at her now. Apart from everything else, he was also rattled about the fact that she had very nearly lost her life today, and while he wanted to comfort her, he didn't know how to even _start_ doing that.

Tonks, a little more alive, and more used to the graphic deaths that they had seen, was watching him silently. Her face was creased with a small frown as she stared at him, compassion and love swimming in the beautiful depths of her eyes. It was obvious that he felt terrible…perhaps he thought that he had disgusted her, frightened her. She had been in a state of shock after seeing his magic in the Forest…it was only natural that she was stunned by the magnitude of such power. But she hadn't meant to be so disjointed, and it tore at her to see him sit there in silence, mournfully staring at the fire. Her eyes pressed shut, and she swallowed uncomfortably.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she made a decision. One that would go against what she believed in and what she wanted most desperately. This was something that would make or break their relationship…and she could only hope that her sacrifice would help them through it. She had to have faith, faith that things would work out. But for now, that had to be cast aside in favor of being with him. Now, she had to put aside this weight on her mind and comfort Harry. Ignoring the voice in her head that criticized her decision, she shook her head firmly, beating it down, and leaned over to Harry, placing her hand on his.

Harry looked up as Tonks gently took his hand in hers, an expression of relief crossing his face. She looked beautiful, the flickering lights of the fire throwing a myriad of colors across her skin. He pulled on her hand, and she rose, moving over to sit in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent gratefully. Gently she hugged him to her body, kissing his cheek, then his eyes, his nose, and finally his lips.

He looked deep into her eyes, his soulful stare mirrored by her own. Her soft hands cupped his cheeks as she straddled him, her face hovering an inch above his.

"Can we talk tomorrow?" he asked, whispering his question even though they had all the privacy in the world. She saw the struggle in his eyes; she saw his need to be comforted. All his masks had fallen away, laying him bare to her. She kissed his lips gently, her warm breath playing across his face as she withdrew.

Nodding, she whispered "Make love to me, Harry." Her expressive, beautiful eyes stared into his, and he saw his own position mirrored in the beautiful violet depths of her eyes. He led her into the bedroom, casting a silencing charm on the door.

They came together that night in a meld of passion and understanding, their urgency exceeded only by their desire to sate the other's thirst for love. Their lovemaking was both gentle and excited, a sense of possessiveness after the battle making them reach at each other constantly to assure that the other was indeed alive and well. With climactic exclamations of pleasure, they came one after the other, slowly floating down from the heavens. Firmly ensconced in the arms of his lover, Harry slept peacefully that night, taking solace from the warmth that Tonks' soft body offered. Tonks slept calmly in her lover's arms, the sensation of warmth and security allowing her a contented smile, her lips pressed against his chest. Through the night, not once did they let go of each other.

* * *

Harry woke up in the early hours of the morning. With the time-distortion in the Chamber, what was four hours of sleep on the outside was some twelve hours to him. A bit surprised at having let go of Tonks, he blearily rolled over, looking to touch her again. He panicked as soon as he noticed that she wasn't there, and his mind immediately moved from one devastating scenario to another, conjuring vivid images of Tonks hating him. He woke up instantly, sitting upright in bed, hoping that she was somewhere in the Chamber. As he hurriedly slipped on a robe, he saw a sheet of paper stuck to the door of the room. Darting over, he ripped it off the door, quickly scanning the page. 

_Dear Harry,_

_I've gone to my apartment, so don't worry about me. I'll be back in the evening, and I'll call before I get there. I'll be in Diagon Alley this afternoon…I have to look for you._

Here, she drew a smiley face that was sticking its tongue out cheekily, and he smiled faintly, plowing on.

_I'll give you a call before I come over…you can tell me then if you want to cook, or if I should pick up food again. Just in case, lets use that other exit that you mentioned, okay?_

Another smiley face, and he smiled fondly, feeling reassured by the fact that she would come back to him.

_I love you,_

_Tonks_

He smiled at the way she had signed off, his heart doing flip-flops at the sentiment. Still, he felt guilty, he felt like an utter bastard. While a simple word from Tonks could make his spirits rise, he was more than painfully aware of the fact that miles away, another woman languished alone. He loved Cho, there was no doubt about that. He loved her as much as he loved Tonks, and to have put her in this position was something that was tearing at his heart. He whispered a silent prayer, subconsciously falling into the habit that Petunia had lovingly taught Dudley as Harry had silently strained to hear from his cupboard.

'_When you are feeling lost, when you are in despair, pray to God.'_

And Harry prayed silently, his eyes closed, head inclined up towards the heavens. He hoped against hope that his relationship with Cho would not suffer. He hoped against hope that he would be able to love those that loved him, that he would be able to accept their love openly. For some reason, it worked…it left him with a hope that burned furiously. He believed that it could happen, that he would, someday, be able to love Cho and Tonks together, to be able to share a relationship with them that was fantastical in all ways. He whispered the prayer again.

Feeling lighter, he left the note next to the bed and left to get ready, preparing himself for a full day of work. There were potions to be made, and rituals to be planned for. He also needed to discuss the implications of the power of his Blood Magic with Salazar…there was no doubt in his mind that this was the _Power_ he had been looking for. The spell, while intensely destructive, was not supposed to be that powerful. It _should_ have caused only two-thirds of the destruction that it did, which was why he had used it. What scared him slightly was the fact that it was only the _first_ time that he had used the spell…he was almost guaranteed to cast it with more power once he grew accustomed to using it. His previous forays into Blood Magic had been minuscule…Salazar had told him that there was no need to practice the more powerful magics until he had gone through his Maturation, for it would only cause him extra trouble in having to relearn his limits and control the amount of power he released. Of course, at that point, Harry had no idea that the Prophecy existed, and had felt no real rush to learn the spells anyways.

Now, it was obvious that the next week and a half would have to include a _large_ emphasis on Blood Magic…he had a new advantage, and he was loath to do anything but squeeze it dry. He whistled a merry tune as he walked, wondering how to go through the next day. For some reason, he didn't want to sleep unless Tonks was with him. But with the time-distortion, the fifteen odd hours until he saw Tonks again would mean that he would have spent nearly two days awake. Grumbling, he knew that the time was necessary, and therefore he would have to sleep alone.

But there was one thing that he was certainly looking forward to…the expression on Salazar's face when he told the man what happened. Grinning, Harry decided to bathe later in favor of laughing first.

* * *

_**Eight hours later, Noon in England**_

Cho Chang was standing outside her home, watering the garden. This was a pet-project that she had taken on during the summer, a way of relieving her boredom. She wished that Harry was around, but knew that he was doing something important, whatever it was. A smile appeared on her face, accompanied by a rosy blush that made her look exquisite in the bright sunlight. She was engaged. _Engaged!_

She was still struggling to wrap her mind around it, and for the most part, had been entirely unable to stop grinning madly for the past day and a half. Knowing that she was alone in the house, and feeling a bit frisky, she grinned. Letting her hair loose, she waved her wand about merrily, dancing happily as streams of water from the tip of her wand splashed across the garden. She danced between the tomatoes and the turnips, laughing as her bare feet were dirtied by the mud. She twirled out of the reach of one of the magical plants, and it clicked in disappointment, making her grin even wider. She was truly happy, and it showed, her smile as bright as her eyes, cheeks dimpled beautifully.

She yelped in shock as someone cleared their throat audibly, nearly tripping, and immediately stopped dancing about, blushing brightly. She tried to see who the visitor was, but the glare of the sun was in her eyes, reflecting off the glass panels of the greenhouse. Realizing that she looked a bit stupid with her wand still gushing water, she hurriedly muttered _"Finite."_

She raised her free hand to shield her eyes from the glare, and looked closely, giving a slight smile as she recognized the visitor. Blushing slightly, she invited the visitor in, hurriedly wiping her feet on the mat.

"How are you, Tonks?" she asked graciously, smiling at seeing her friend and Housemate from years ago. While a few years had separated them, there was a Ravenclaw tradition of older students tutoring the younger ones, and it had, for centuries, facilitated a level of friendship between the different years that was unlike that in the other Houses.

Tonks nodded, looking pale and nervous. Cho frowned slightly, staring at her. As far as she knew, Tonks had been staying with Harry for a while, and was teaching him how to control his Metamorphmagus abilities. Her frown deepened…there was no need for Tonks to be here, unless…

The color drained from Cho's face. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she tried to smile bravely, wiping it away with an impatient swipe of her hand.

"So," she said, her voice faltering as sobs threatened to emerge, "you've fallen for Harry?"

Tonks' head rocketed up, her eyes wide. Weakly, she began to say something, but thought better of it, simply nodding jerkily.

Another tear emerged from Cho's eye, and she berated herself in vain for it. _'Dammit, Cho, stop it!" _her mind cried,_ 'You **knew**__this would happen, so stop it!'_ But despite everything, despite _knowing_ that this would happen, it did nothing to lessen the impact. She felt small, broken…she felt betrayed, even though she had told herself every night for _months_ that she would be accepting. She had tried to force herself to accept what she knew was inevitable, but now, in the face of the moment, she was unable to.

The tears threatened to pour out, but she worked hard, using the Occlumency skills that Harry had taught her. _'Harry taught this to me…Harry did. How ironic…' _She slowly managed to rein herself under control, but the side effect was that her voice sounded hollow and emotionless when she spoke.

"So," she asked, sounding almost mechanical, "is that what you came here to tell me? Does Harry know yet, or have you already been intimate with him?" It hurt to ask the last question, it hurt more than she could ever have imagined. The pain threatened to tear at her from within, and she was sure that as soon as Tonks was gone, she would be nothing more than a sobbing wreck.

Weakly, Tonks nodded, confirming what she suspected. In a dry, rough voice, Tonks whispered "He _does_ love you. He…he loves you more than you can imagine."

Cho didn't have to hear the _'but'_ to understand what Tonks was saying. While the sentiment was somewhat uplifting, it did not detract from the pain at all.

She laughed harshly. "I know he does, and that's why it hurts." Tonks recoiled as if she had been slapped. A miniscule part of Cho's mind felt some pity for the other woman, felt some pity for the fact that she was in this position. She imagined that Harry had no idea that she was here. He, probably, was somewhat broken himself, possibly trying to understand how he should tell her. She had been voicing it for months…her great-great-great grandmother had been a seer, and ever since, the female descendants of the Chang family would make _one_ true prediction in their lives. This was hers. It had simply stumbled out of her mouth one day while talking to him, and she had been horrified for weeks. She had tried to accept it, and had thought that she had. Obviously, she had been wrong.

And immediately, he had looked at her in utter disbelief. He had refused to say a thing, refused to accept it. When she asked why, he would not answer, but the reason was painfully obvious, and it only made her love him more. He simply couldn't handle the thought of betraying her, be it purposely or accidentally. While entirely prepared to betray someone who offended him in any way, in moral issues, he was strictly honest. He had not falsely told her that he loved her until he truly meant it. To some extent, he was wary of the prediction…he did not dismiss it, but to have it _happen_ would break him. It always made him uncomfortable, having her in his arms, weeping softly as she whispered _"I love you,"_ only to know that there was someone else that he would love, too.

Softly, Tonks whispered "I'm sorry. It means nothing coming from me, but I'm sorry."

Cho shook her head, looking broken. "What can I do? I can accept it…I knew this would happen. I don't like it at all, but I can't leave him. I love him more than anything else in the world. If…if this has to happen," she whispered sadly, "it will. All I can do is hope that he will keep loving me."

Tonks looked down at the ground. They sat in silence for a minute, each drifting into their thoughts. Tonks took a deep breath, making Cho look back up. Unconsciously, her fingers rose to her face, and she felt the tears that had rolled down her cheeks. Blushing in embarrassment, she hurriedly wiped them away. Tonks reached into the pocket of her robes and withdrew two envelopes. She placed them on the table, and used the tips of her fingers to slide them across. Cho's breath hitched unconsciously as she remembered Harry perform the _same_ action, while sitting in the same seat as Tonks.

She looked down, lifting the two letters off the table. One bore her name, the other Tonks', the handwriting feminine but somewhat messy. Cho looked up at Tonks, wondering why the Auror had given her a letter addressed to herself. Tonks smiled sadly, looking out of the window, her gaze blank.

"I wrote them," she said softly. "Don't open the one addressed to me. Your letter should tell you what to do with yours."

Cho raised an eyebrow, intrigued even though she had other things to think about. Her fingers gently removed the seal on the envelope addressed to her, and she removed the paper. Tonks was now staring at her, her gaze almost desperate. Cho's eyes fell to the paper, carefully reading through the words. With each sentence, her eyes grew wider and wider, her jaw dropping in absolute astonishment. Stunned, she read through the letter again, and then again, shaking her head in utter disbelief.

She slumped back in her chair, her hands dropping the letter as they rose to cradle her face. For nearly ten minutes, she sat there in complete silence, staring at the wall blankly, her eyebrows knitted in thought. Finally, she leaned forward, seeing Tonks staring at her in pure desperation now. There was nothing between them…every emotion was entirely bared. A tear rolled down Cho's cheek as she blinked.

Looking into Tonks' eyes, she paused for a minute. Then, blinking again, she nodded, another tear slipping down her cheeks.

Tonks deflated, releasing a sigh of relief. She stood, and walked outside with Cho in complete silence.

She turned to the younger woman, gazing at her sorrowfully.

"I'm so sorry," Tonks whispered. Then, she took a deep breath and pointed her wand at herself, a look of sadness on her face.

"_Obliviate_."

* * *

Uh-OH! A CLIFFIE :D 

**Please be so kind as to review**, even with a single word, such as Outstanding/Exceeds Expectations/Acceptable/Poor/Dreadful…

Reviews are always nice to have, and it gives me an idea as to how my efforts are being received.

Now, I'm sorry to say it, but updates for Chimera and Incubus are going to become a bit slower. I'm taking a lot of hard classes this upcoming semester, and I won't have quite as much time to write. I will, however, do my utmost to try and update once a month. It's hard, but I will try. Thanks for all the reviews, and all the hits. Apparently, my promises about chapter length are useless, because this one is the largest Chimera chapter that I have written to date. :P

* * *

The list of people to be thanked for this chapter…this wasn't beta'd, per se, since my beta has seemingly gone on vacation, but I'm confident that the rest of these fine fellows have weeded out any errors. 

**Element, IP82: **Thanks a lot for all your help. The two of you practically made this chapter what it is.

**LT2000, CJCold:** Thanks for your help, and all ideas/critiques that you have given. It is very much appreciated.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Click!_

Peace. Utter peace… the tranquility that characterized the refuge that was his mind caused a small smile to curve his lips. The outside world was inconsequential there, all that mattered was him. Within the sphere of his Occlumency shields, he could think freely, in a smooth, unfettered manner. He could languidly access memories, shift them around and categorize them not only by genre, but by importance. The knowledge of magic, his most necessary tool, stood strong at the forefront of his mind, available immediately for smooth, quick recalling.

The mind was an odd thing. It was not the _center_ of his consciousness that enabled the quickest recall of knowledge and memories, it was the periphery, closest to the shields he was currently building. While his consciousness was at the very center of his mind, his awareness and recollection were at the periphery, woven in through his mental shields. His consciousness was what characterized him, the traits and tendencies that made up his character. Near the consciousness of his mind were things such as the various memories and feelings that he associated with people, the nature of his relationships with Tonks and Cho, and other assorted memories and feelings that made him who he was. The mind had a natural shield, a basic framework, to be more precise, that consisted of his awareness and recollection. Near these 'qualities' stood other factors of the mind, things such as knowledge and emotion. In Harry's case, these were sorted by priority… his magical knowledge and the emotions associated with that knowledge were grouped together, layered almost entirely against the sphere of his mental shield, the few gaps filled by other crucial knowledge, such as his knowledge of languages, culture and human interaction.

While the mind automatically layered itself in this manner to work optimally, there was a certain leeway possible where one could shift certain elements around, to a certain degree, for greater effectiveness. And it was this leeway that Harry was exploiting, organizing his knowledge, memories and emotion for the most effective mental organization known to the Wizarding World. Expert Occlumens had been experimenting with the layout of the mind for centuries, eventually coming to conclusions that had perfected the art, creating rules and procedures that had been derived through centuries of disgusting experimentation on the minds of Muggles. By 'editing' the framework of the Muggles' minds, and examining the resulting effects on their memory, emotions and personalities, Wizards had found and decrypted the secrets of the mind. Disgusting as the history of Occlumency was, the lessons learnt were invaluable to someone in Harry's position… that being the position of someone burdened with the destiny to duel a Dark Lord to the death.

He withdrew from his mind slowly, and opened his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he leaned backwards, stretching his back, and hearing a few satisfying pops.

Tonks, hearing the sound, looked up from the Daily Prophet and smiled at him. "Everything alright?" she asked, moving to join him on the couch.

He smiled back at her, pulling her onto his lap. "Yeah, everything is in its right place. Anything interesting in the papers?"

Tonks' smile faltered slightly. "They found the bodies of the Centaurs we rowed with," she said cautiously. The destruction Harry had wrought that day had not left his mind easily, he had carried a slightly troubled look for a while after the incident, returning to normal only recently.

He sighed. "What does the Prophet say about it?"

Tonks scanned the paper to make sure she had the information right, and replied "They seem to think that a cave troll or two came close to Hogwarts, met the Centaurs and bashed them into the ground. They can't seem to find any other reason, and the magical residue would have worn away by now, so they really haven't a clue. As for the clearing, they said that an overcharged bolt of lightning struck a patch of boomslang, causing it to explode violently. I guess there weren't any bodies left… not after what happened." She trailed off, looking at him cautiously.

He nodded, then shrugged. "Hell," he muttered, "they'd never believe the truth anyhow. I'm supposed to be a lunatic, not someone who can toss a sea of fire from his hand."

She cast a quick look at him, and seeing a slight smile on his face, grinned in response. "Alright," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his, her head tucked under his chin.

He nodded awkwardly, due to the fact that her head inhibited the movement, and echoed her words. "Alright. You're sure you want to help me with this?"

She made a clucking noise, and pulled her head up, glaring at him. "Harry Potter," she said imperiously, "when your exalted Queen states her intentions, she means to follow through with them!"

He laughed, wrapping his other arm around her and squeezing gently. His nose brushed hers, and eyes closed, he muttered "Does my exalted Queen know exactly what I want to do to her right now?"

She blinked, then began laughing hysterically when he began tickling her. "Stop!" she shouted, unable to stop laughing. He did, grinning at her. "Playtime doesn't start until we're done here," she said, scowling playfully at him.

"Alright," he agreed reluctantly, then sighed, steeling himself. He laid down, resting his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. Tonks did the same, lying a few inches away from him and taking his hand into her own. The physical contact between them would make the next process easier on Tonks.

He barely heard her soft voice as she whispered _"Legilimens."_

Harry fell into the comforting darkness of his mind, almost immediately finding his center. In the 'distance', he could see his magical core, and beyond it, the core of magic that fueled his Metamorphmagus transformations. He mentally grimaced at the sight of his magical core, seeing the dark strips that leashed and held his magic captive. But the core itself was pulsing almost excitedly, knowing that it was a matter of hours before it would be liberated from its cage. The strips quivered, holding tight but slowly giving way to his magic … in roughly twelve hours, Harry Potter would finally be a free man.

He turned towards his mental shields, almost screaming giddily as he once again looked upon the nearly completed shield. By the beginning of the summer, the framework for the shield had been completed. It had looked like a muggle construction site in some ways, for there appeared to be a globe-like shape wrapped around his mind, created of metallic-looking beams that curved and interlocked in a crisscrossing fashion, leaving small diamond shaped holes through which his 'mind' could still be seen. Now, after constant work each night, there remained but five such diamond shaped holes to fill. Filling the last ones, though, was an entirely different task in comparison to laying the first. As the mind was being 'blocked off' from invasion, there was considerable mental pain involved in sealing the mind away. Obviously, the shield did not restrict _Harry_ from accessing his mind, the shield was simply a permeable barrier to the owner of the mind.

There was also the tear in Harry's mind to be considered, the tear through which Voldemort and Harry were able to access each other's minds. Around this tear, Harry had constructed yet another framework for a shield, and had then constructed the shield within days. This had no painful effect, as Harry was not blocking off _his_ mind, he was blocking off Voldemort's _access_ to his mind. In essence, he had sealed the tear entirely, thereby turning it into a dead-end. With some luck, this would also have the effect of getting rid of the excruciating pain in his scar each time Harry was within a few feet of Voldemort.

Now, he gazed at the framework apprehensively, wondering how much more excessive the pain would be in comparison to the original mind shield that he had constructed. After Salazar had begun tutoring Harry, and consequently using the powers of his portrait to rifle through the boy's head to examine his knowledge at the time, he had immediately recognized the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, and the gleam in Snape's to be legilimency. He had been furious at the two, almost reaching the point where dignity was sacrificed in the name of righteous anger at the two adults who treated Harry's mind with as much respect as one would show to a toilet. Harry personally felt that Salazar himself would not be averse to the idea of snooping into students minds _occasionally_, if there was warranted suspicion… Salazar's anger was because it was _Harry_, his son-slash-apprentice, who's mind was being assaulted.

Harry had spent a good portion of the summer he had stayed in the Leaky Cauldron crafting a minor shield. Within this shield he stored the memories of meeting Salazar, and the knowledge and emotions associated with what he had learnt through means that Dumbledore or Snape would consider illicit. By knowing enough basic occlumency by the time his third year ended, Harry was capable of hiding this shielded section of his memories deep inside his mind, and was capable of shrouding it with other memories to make it seem harmless enough to avoid suspicion. Yet, the completion of even that small shield, which he had later dismantled without any pain, had been painful enough to cause several trips to the apothecary during his stay in Diagon Alley.

He felt Tonks' mental presence take his 'hand' in her own, and he jumped slightly in surprise. She looked at him carefully, then said "We should finish this now, Harry."

He nodded at her, smiling slightly and receiving an encouraging smile in return. Almost 'floating' in his mind, outside his mental shield, were the remaining five diamond shaped pieces that had to be fit in to the framework in order to complete the shield. Working alone, it would have taken Harry a good hour to place each piece in its place, due to the sluggishness caused by the mental pain. With Tonks at his side helping him, it would take less than ten minutes per piece. The pain, however, was inevitable. Regardless of who was lifting the piece into place, Harry's mind would be assaulted with pain as his mind was sealed off to him. Unfortunately, to build the shield, Harry had to be _outside_ it, which essentially meant that the more complete the shield was, the more his mind would treat him as an attacker rather than the owner. Once completed, however, the shield would solidify, the lines melting away to form one solid shield through which Harry could pass without any trouble whatsoever. At least, he thought ruefully, Tonks wouldn't have to experience the pain at all … once was enough.

As they concentrated, the first piece began lifting off the ground. Immediately, Harry began to feel a dull ache in the 'mind' of his mental representation. As the block slowly moved higher and higher, the pain intensified to the point where he was gritting his teeth, trying to focus on moving the block rather than on the pain that assaulted his mind. When the piece finally fell into place, Harry performed the mental equivalent of dropping to his knees, releasing a deep breath that he had been unaware of holding. Tonks looked at him with sympathy in her eyes, but lifted him to his feet again. He could take pain, that was for sure. When she had completed _her_ mind shield during Auror training, under the guidance of her mother, the pain had been overwhelming enough that after each of the last ten pieces, she had to take a headache relieving potion. To avoid overdosing on the potion, though, it had taken Tonks three days to do. Harry had put the last five blocks in by _himself_, and in one go, needing only two headache relievers after the grueling task. Now, faced with the final five, she was beginning to worry… there was no doubt that the second and third could be accomplished, but the final two could be a task far too daunting to accomplish in the same attempt.

Again, they went through the motions, lifting the second block off the ground and carefully maneuvering it into place. As it fit in with a click, Harry sank to his knees again, letting out a soft moan. Tonks, both proud and worried, gave him a minute to relax before hauling him to his feet again. He never spoke a word, never protested in the slightest when she stood him up again. The next two blocks went in even slower, as the intensity of the pain was enough to debilitate Harry's effort to the point where Tonks was doing most of the work. Barely able to keep his eyes open, Harry steadfastly stood again, and began lifting the last block. Tonks, glancing at him worriedly, was quick to help, throwing as much effort as possible to move the block. The quicker it was over, the quicker they could leave Harry's mind and get him a headache potion.

The last block rose with painful slowness, worrying Tonks even more. She could not even chance a glance towards Harry, for her slight lack of attention could cause the block to fall back down. Instead she pushed with all her might, frantically trying to get the block into place as she felt Harry's 'hand' growing limp in hers. Even with their combined effort, it took a full twenty five minutes to fit the block in, at which point Harry collapsed completely. Picking him up, thankful that his pain was now gone, she was horrified to see his mental representation bleeding from the nose. Shaking him back to consciousness, she almost screamed _"Leave your mind! NOW!"_

Seeing him disappear, she heaved a sigh of relief, following in his tracks. In the bedroom, she awoke with a start, snapping upright and immediately checking on Harry. As his mental representation had indicated, his nose was bleeding somewhat severely, and his eyes were shut tightly as he groaned in pain. Reaching over to the table next to them, she gathered up a vial of headache relieving potion and uncorked it, tipping the contents down his throat. Almost immediately, his groans subsided, and he released a sigh of relief. His eyes snapped open, baring their incredibly vibrant shade of green, and he gazed at Tonks with gratitude, a look that she returned with one full of love.

"Sit still," she muttered, "your nose is bleeding." Grasping her wand, she tapped the tip of his nose with it, murmuring _"Episkey."_ The healing charm worked immediately, and the slight trickle of blood ceased. A wave of her wand and a silent _Scourgify_ charm vanished the blood from his face and nose. "All done," she whispered, smiling widely.

He smiled at her. "All done, indeed," he said, grinning widely at the truth of the statement. His mind, once fragile and open to exploitation, was now strong and healthy, and invulnerable to attack. There was no such thing as _destroying_ someone's shields, surpassing or breaking them in any way. Once a shield was created, it was there to stay, unless the owner of the mind decided to dismantle the shield. Voldemort, if – and only if – the tear in Harry's mind was still open, _could_ theoretically destroy Harry's mental shield, since it could only be done from the inside. But that was out of the question, as the tear had been sealed away, and now there was nothing to fear, as the shield was in place and there to stay.

"When are you leaving for Diagon Alley?" Tonks asked, getting out of bed.

"Um …" Harry replied, "now?" He leaned in to kiss her before he left, but she dodged out of reach, grinning cheekily. Harry pouted. "But I wanna!" he exclaimed, a remarkable impersonation of a child.

She laughed, pinching his cheek jokingly. "Have a good time finding your knives," she said, before smirking widely at him and sauntering towards the pool and dropping her robe as she walked. "I'll be relaxing for a bit."

Harry, mouth dry, could only gape at the unfairness of it all as she gave her hips some extra swing, her delectable rear quickly moving away from him. For a second, he simply stared after her, barely registering the flirtatious grin she threw at him over her shoulder.

Then, leaping from the bed and tearing at his robe as he sprinted after her, he muttered "The hell with Diagon Alley! _Wait for me!_"

* * *

It was about two hours later that Harry found himself in Diagon Alley. To his right was the Apothecary, and to his left, the entrance to Knocturn Alley. His hood up to throw a slight shadow across his face, Harry smiled slightly, amused by the fact that the closest store to Knocturn Alley was the Apothecary. It seemed so fitting, but ironic all the same. Turning into Knocturn Alley, he walked in about eighty feet before walking through the thin alley between the Gorgon's Eye, a pub of great disrepute, and Alan's Nightshack, a bordello-slash-inn of equal disrepute. Sneering ever so slightly, he stepped over the body of some drunken lout who had collapsed in the narrow alley, and continued on. At the end was a brick wall, degraded by years of filth and rotting away to some extent. 

Feeling somewhat reluctant to use his newly polished, newly customized wand on something that filthy, Harry instead drew Salazar's wand, and used it to tap the stone that was nine bricks from the left and eight up. Holding the tip of his wand perpendicular to the brick, he used his fingers to roll the wand in place until it had completed three clockwise rotations, causing the wall to melt away and reveal a new alley. In stark contrast to the filthy, yet modern Wizarding World that Harry had just been standing in, what lay before him was so comically different that it made him chuckle. It was as if he had been thrust back in time to the Medieval ages. There was no cobbled road, merely a dirt road pockmarked here and there with clumps of grass. Imprints of horseshoes could be seen everywhere, though the horses themselves were suspiciously missing.

He continued forward, hearing the wall seal itself behind him. The alley, oh-so-creatively called Medieval Alley, was fairly short, extending no more than a hundred feet. There were around six shops, including what looked like a stable. Harry supposed that the stable housed the horses that had trampled the ground everywhere. The shops themselves were humorous, being nothing more than stone cottages with wooden signs affixed above the doors that declared their wares. The one nearest to him read "Trumbull and Sons," in simple lettering. The name was underlined by an exceptionally long sword, perhaps ten feet in length, and obviously created with the sole purpose of being the underline for the board.

Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Harry began walking towards the entrance, murmuring "_This_ is the best smithy in all of England?" Entering, he found the shop to be dimly lit, and was somewhat surprised to see that rather than having multiple rooms, the entire inside of the cottage was just one massive room. An assortment of bladed weapons covered every wall, shelf and display cabinet in the room, the candle lights reflected off the shining blades. Harry supposed that if there was too much light, this many reflecting items in the room would make shopping a rather troublesome experience. Nearby, he saw a flight of stairs descending into the lower level of the shop, and going by the increased warmth as he approached it, and the slight red glow he could see below, that was where the weapons were forged. A bell hung from the ceiling, and Harry guessed that he was to ring it in case he needed assistance. Rather than look around aimlessly, he immediately rang the bell a few times, stepping back a few paces.

From below, a man came trudging up the stairs. Perhaps sixty years of age, he looked extremely tired, and was covered in sweat, no doubt due to the heat of the furnace. Seeing Harry, he raised an eyebrow. Harry's clothing, while formal enough to denote someone deserving of respect, was also practical enough to allow him limitless movement, and the possibility to have hidden multiple weapons. Warily regarding Harry, the man slowly extracted his wand, making sure that Harry could see each move that he made. Pointing the wand towards himself, he whispered a low-powered energy charm, and then a few charms that removed the sweat from his clothes, hair and skin, and made his clothes smell a bit more pleasant.

"Good day, m'lud," the man said as he stowed his wand, bowing slightly in deference, "what can I do for yeh today?"

Harry pulled his hood down, revealing his carefully morphed face. His real face made him look old enough to avoid any questioning and inconvenient identification problems when it came to buying lethal weapons such as war blades, but to hide his identity, and to be doubly sure, he had morphed his face to look like a much older version of Seamus Finnegan, minus the freckles and the obnoxiously misshapen teeth. Of course, to be taken even slightly seriously, he'd sharpened Seamus' features to some extent, thinned the lad's thick eyebrows, and retained Harry Potter's eye and hair color.

"I'm looking for daggers, of sorts," Harry said, his voice smooth and ever so slightly coaxing, "war blades, to be more precise. In the twenty to twenty four inch range … needless to say, I'm looking for the very best."

"War blades? We haven't sold a pair of those in ages, m'lud, I dunnae think we've got a good set lying around 'ere," the man replied, then went on to introduce himself as Oliver Trumbull, the owner and proprietor of the shop.

"Let's have a look at what you've got, then," Harry sighed, purposely neglecting to introduce himself, "if I don't find anything satisfactory, I suppose I'll have to commission a set."

Trumbull's eyes gleamed at the thought of making a set of war blades, and Harry amusedly filtered his thought process out. The man was truly obsessed with perfection, immediately planning every step of the crafting of the blades. At least, Harry thought, he could trust the man to put his full effort in if it came to having blades commissioned.

Trumbull led him over to a display case in the far corner of the shop, babbling excitedly about the benefits of having blades commissioned rather than readymade. Harry, giving the impression that he was paying attention, instead took the time to examine the few war blades that the man did have. There were three pairs, each made with shoddy craftsmanship. They were extremely alike to the ones that the Goblins had offered him, ornate and pretty-looking, but ultimately useless in every sense of the word.

He shook his head, frowning. "No, no … I'm afraid these won't do at all, Mr. Trumbull," Harry said, "they aren't very well crafted at all, none of them meet my specifications, and they are all far too ostentatious for my liking."

Trumbull, trying to affect a grave mood, nodded slowly, and spoke almost in a tragic voice, "Aye, these were made to be ornamental fer the most part, with a little practicality added for those who like their shiny things even shinier than usual, if yeh know what I'm gettin' at. I'm afraid this'll have to be a custom job."

Harry sighed, agreeing reluctantly with the man. The last thing he wanted was to wait for his blades to be made. The man led him to a makeshift cashier's table on top of another glass case of trinkets and bladed weapons. He pulled out a measuring tape and all sorts of other tools, then walked around the display case to measure Harry. Deciding that it would be best if he asked the man before touching him, and noticing that his customer seemed extremely occupied at the moment, Trumbull cleared his throat. It had no effect. Confused, he tried to find what Harry was looking at, and his eyes alighted on a familiar pair of items in the glass case that he used as a table.

He chuckled, but Harry did not even move, his enraptured gaze falling squarely on the wondrous objects. Finally, closing his gaping mouth, Harry turned to Trumbull, and in a slightly strangled voice, murmured "Show me those."

Trumbull once again crossed the display case to remove them, but as he crouched to do so, spoke. "I'd entirely forgotten about these, m'lud, they've just been sittin' there so long that they dun even register in me head as war blades, yeh know? Anyways, m'lud, I'll be sorry to inform yeh that these aren't fer sale."

"Oh?" Harry inquired, his voice slightly weak, "Why ever not?"

"Heh," the man said, standing again, now bearing the items in his hands, "they're a bit of a family heirloom, yeh see. Me father was makin' them even on his deathbed, and when he bit it, Merlin rest his soul, they were almost complete. I was the one to fashion the handles for them, and create the scabbards. Never actually intended to sell them, yeh know, m'lud?"

Harry gingerly took the first of the two blades from Trumbull's hands. The man had inserted the blade back into its sheath. Harry, pupils slightly dilated as his eyes roved over the sheathed war blade, couldn't believe the utter beauty of what he was looking at. The scabbard was made of dark brown leather, sturdy and tough in texture and malleability. At the opening of the sheath, and at the slightly curved, pointed tip, the sheath was adorned in gold, artfully melted, then molded upon the leather. Between the two gold-tipped ends of the scabbard, the leather was embroidered with some kind of string, taking the pattern of vines that crept from the opening of the sheath to the pointed end.

From the gold-adorned opening of the sheath emerged the handle of the blade, made not of wrapped metal, but of wood. The wood was a light yellowish-cream in color, upon which vine-like patterns were etched in melted, painted gold. The handle was slightly curved, to compensate for the hollow of one's palm, and despite being lacquered wood, the grip on the handle was astonishing. Grasping the scabbard securely, Harry pulled on the handle, even more pleased when the blade slid out without requiring much effort. As the blade was revealed, Harry had no other choice but to let loose a gasp of appreciation. The utter beauty of the blade was so breathtaking that Harry could scarcely believe that human hands had created such perfection, magic or not.

The blade was silvery, made most likely out of iron, but magically polished to the extent that it had the reflective clarity of stainless steel. The end of the handle was diagonal, so the blade seemed to emerge in stages. The handle was about six and a half inches in length, the blade about fifteen and a half inches in length. The blade was straight for the first ten inches or so, then curved slightly, the sharpened end meeting the tip to leave a wickedly sharp point. But the most remarkable thing of all was the design on the blade. Trumbull's father had indeed spent a lot of time on this blade, evident more so in this final facet of the blade's 'personality' than in any other of the exquisitely created elements.

The smithy had, with great care, engraved _thousands_ of tiny holes in the surface of the flat side of the blade, on either side. Each hole was perhaps a fraction of a millimeter deep, and just as wide. A quick look towards what Trumbull held in his hands showed that the same was true of the other blade. The holes were a pattern, each so close to the next that together, the holes painted a picture of a long vine emerging from the handle of the dagger, then curled down the length of the blade to culminate near the tip. What was more miraculous was the fact that each of these holes, without fail, had been refilled with gold, so that it appeared as if a vine of pure gold had extended its way down the surface of the blade. Amidst the artificial sea of gold was the pattern of a vine that similarly extended itself down the length of the blade, splitting into various other 'arms' as it sprawled down the length of the golden area. This silver vine was ingeniously created by leaving that thin path down the blade free of the small holes which were now filled with gold, thereby creating a solid vine that smoothly stretched itself amidst the sea of gold.

Despite the gold, the silver, the bright colors, the blade as a whole possessed such a beautifully muted quality that it pained Harry to see it go unused. He could feel the magic in the blades, magic that had seeped in as Trumbull's father's life extinguished itself as the blades were created. He knew, that with just the minimal amount of encouragement, he could persuade Trumbull's father's magic into bending to his will, towards preserving and enhancing the masterpiece that he had created.

"How much?" he whispered, looking deep into Trumbull's eyes. Trumbull's eyes widened, as he saw the flare of emotion, the sudden possessiveness, the naked _desire_ in his customer's eyes. He gasped softly, taking a step back.

"I …" he whispered, looking pained, "I cannot sell it to you." All traces of his accent had departed him.

Harry, looking into the smithy's eyes, knew this to be the truth. No amount of money could convince the man to part with the blades. He sighed deeply, shaking his head sadly, and placed the blade back into its scabbard, then set it on the table and took a step back. Trumbull slowly, almost reverently, placed the blades back onto the plaque that had held them, and returned them to the display case. He looked up, only to stumble back in fear, for Harry's wand was pointed at his face. He never stood a chance.

"_Stupefy,"_ Harry incanted, the red beam buckling out of his newly customized wand and striking the smithy in the face. The man, immediately unconscious, dropped to his knees first, swayed dangerously towards the display case, but then fell to the side, landing heavily on the floor.

He paused before reaching into the case, looking back at the fallen man sadly. It certainly felt wrong to _steal_ the blades from him … it felt wrong to forcibly take something that held such emotional power, to take away the legacy of the man's father. Yet, it felt so _right_ to take them, to hold such beautiful blades in his hands and wield them with skill that few others possessed. Languishing away in the dingy shop, their fate would be bleak … one of rust and sadness as they sat in a display cabinet, at the mercy of the elements, and subject to the sadness they would bring each time they reminded Trumbull of his dead father. With Harry, they would live lives of adventure and action, they would fulfill the mandate under which they were created, and their purity would stand in stark contrast to the evil that they would slay.

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. Obviously, it would eventually become common knowledge that Lord Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and Wizard Extraordinaire, possessed war blades of such incredibly uniqueness. And for a man in Trumbull's position, that of a worker with professional interest in blades, it would be immediately revealed that the blades bore a stunning resemblance to the blades his father had created. And that would most _certainly_ pose a problem … the last thing Harry needed was to be accused of stealing the blades, it would do wonders in destroying his image. He scowled, cursing his impulsiveness.

'_What to do, what to do?'_

He sighed again, a vague idea entering his mind. Leaving Trumbull on the floor in a daze, he left the shop quickly, returning to the alley from which he had entered. A disillusionment charm and a levitation charm later, he walked back into Medieval Alley, the body of the drunken lout floating invisibly behind him. Entering Trumbull and Sons once more, Harry undid the charms on the lout, dropping him to the floor gently. He sliced open the man's sleeve, and twirling his wand expertly at the revealed skin, incanted _"Creo Imago!"_

As intended, the illusion took shape, causing the vile mark of Lord Voldemort to etch itself across the man's inner forearm. Whispering the incantation again, but now waving his wand over the man's body, he placed another illusion… one of death. He would have simply transfigured a block of wood, or some such object into a fake body, but until his power was restored to him, he simply did not have the magical resources to cast such a spell. While walking back to the alley to retrieve the drunk had taken time, it was far less taxing, as all that was required was the illusion on the man's forearm.

Satisfied with his illusion, Harry quickly stunned the man, then levitated a scimitar off the nearby wall, and dropped it on the floor next to the man. Turning to Trumbull, Harry once again pointed his wand at the fallen man, and incanted _"Obliviate!"_ The whispered incantation erased the artificial memories implanted by Harry just minutes previously, and once again opened the man's mind to suggestion. Using legilimency, Harry easily forced his thoughts into Trumbull's head, receiving a groan in return.

He stood, and changed his features back to his own, not disguising his height, weight or musculature in the least. Elongating his hair, he pulled it back into an extremely short ponytail, thereby prominently displaying his scar. Now, drawing a look of worry upon his face, he began shaking Trumbull, lightly slapping his cheek. Moments later, Trumbull slowly regained consciousness, a look of confusion on his face.

"Are you alright, sir?" Harry inquired, adding an anxious note to his voice. Trumbull nodded his assent, his eyes widening comically as the implanted memories penetrated the haziness in his mind.

As far as he knew, the man on the floor was a drunken Death Eater who had entered the shop roaring obscenities, and had then attempted to attack Trumbull with the smithy's own sword. A customer, Harry, quietly browsing Trumbull's goods on the other side of the shop, had intervened, striking the man behind the ear with the bottom of his sword's hilt, dropping the man and saving Trumbull from being decapitated.

Gratitude flooding his thoughts, Trumbull looked to the savior of the Wizarding World with tears in his eyes. "Thank you, thank you so much," he whispered, his emotion filled voice nearly causing Harry to manifest the guilt that he was feeling.

Harry, looking extremely worried, whispered "I killed him… he's dead, I didn't mean to! Oh Merlin…" Trumbull, shocked, turned his gaze to the 'Death Eater', immediately noticing that there was no rise-and-fall of the man's chest indicating breath.

Making a quick decision, Trumbull turned to Harry, and said "Mr. Potter, please… it wasn't your fault at all. You were defending me. We'll… no. This never happened, Mr. Potter, and neither you nor this filth ever entered this shop." Looking at the body, Trumbull pulled out his wand, and focusing hard, pointed the wand at the body and muttered _"Evanesco!"_ In a disturbingly slow fashion, the body evaporated away into nothingness.

Harry blanched, his jaw dropping at the action. This was most _certainly _not a part of his plan… all he had intended on was for Trumbull to not consider him a murderer. The lout might have been exactly that, but it wasn't a crime punishable by death… and it was irreversible, what had happened. A wave of guilt slammed into Harry, for through his actions, he had made Trumbull a murderer, and he had caused the unnecessary death of a man.

Harry turned wide eyes to the man, then slowly nodded, looking as if he were incapable of phrasing his gratitude. Right now, there was no point in ruminating over what had happened… he needed to simply go through with his plans, and think on his stupidity later. This was a prime lesson to learn, he knew… to _never_ let his impulsiveness get in the way again.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, then closed his mouth with an audible click, furthering the impression of gratitude left on the man.

"No, thank _you_, Mr. Potter," Trumbull gushed, "if it weren't for you, I would be dead now!"

Harry, an embarrassed air about him, squeezed the man's shoulder comfortingly. "It was not a problem, Mr. Trumbull," he said, his voice smooth and his tone polite, "I could not let him harm you. I must implore you to keep this between us, though, it cannot be known that I visited your shop. I have… certain enemies, as I'm sure you know."

Trumbull nodded frantically. "How can I ever repay you?!" he exclaimed, hurriedly standing, "How can I ever even hope to match what you did for me?" Even as Harry began to put up a feeble protest, he exclaimed "Choose anything in the shop, anything at all, and it shall be yours."

Even as Harry feebly protested some more by citing various heroic reasons to negate the need for a reward, and thereby causing the man to insist more forcefully, he was inwardly trembling due to the effort that it took to prevent his satisfied smirk from reaching his face.

"Well," he allowed, a slight blush of guilt staining his cheeks red, "I was looking for a pair of war blades…"

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Harry stood outside Gringotts. Everything had gone exactly according to plan, and more so. He had finagled an oath of silence from Trumbull with ease, which certainly allayed a great many of Harry's fears. Due to the thoughts and commands imprinted into Trumbull's mind by the Memory Charm, it had been extremely easy to convince the man to part with the blades, which now hung snugly on Harry's back in a similarly free leather harness. It was over and done with. Harry, out of guilt, had decided to transfer fifty Galleons to Trumbull's vault… after all, he _had_ stolen the blades. 

Luck seemed to favor Harry that day, for the teller he approached upon his entry into the bank was the same teller who he had intimidated so successfully the last time. A hard stare, reinforced by the vibrancy of Harry's eye color, was all it took to make the teller quake in his seat. Harry's demand to meet Curledtoe immediately was immediately acknowledged, and the Goblin leapt from his seat, only too eager to direct the human to Curledtoe's office, where he would be far away from the teller's desk.

A few minutes and an agonizingly bright walk through the halls of Gringotts, courtesy of the gilded statues and ornaments, Harry stood outside Curledtoe's office, while the teller entered to warn the Director of his arrival. Through the door, Harry heard the muted snarls of Gobbledygook being spoken, and a moment later, the teller reopened the door and bowed him in.

Striding in confidently, Harry nodded to Curledtoe, then took a seat without being invited to do so. It wasn't an _insult_, but the impoliteness inferred a lack of respect and a disdain that Curledtoe was wise enough to recognize and internalize. There was nothing to be gained from making a foe of a Wizard with a level of power, both Political and Magical, like Harry Potter.

Snapping his fingers to conjure tea for his guest, Curledtoe politely greeted Harry. "Good day, Lord Potter. How might Gringotts assist you this afternoon?" Harry inwardly smirked… perhaps Curledtoe was willing to treat him appropriately. After all, the conjuration that he had just performed would leave him close to magical exhaustion, as Goblins weren't especially powerful when it came to anything except warding.

Harry took a sip of his tea before answering, letting the hot liquid slip down his throat as he chose how to phrase his demands. "Curledtoe," he said, acknowledging the Goblin, "I am in need of several things this afternoon, and it just so happens that you are the one who shall provide them." It was delicately phrased, but bore all the tact of a bull in a china shop, Harry knew. It did not hurt to assert, then continually re-establish his superiority … he needed to seem disdainful, but entirely knowledgeable of the power that he possessed to make his commands have any worth.

"Please, do go on," Curledtoe replied, a small, cold smile revealing his razor-sharp teeth. He knew exactly what was happening … three hundred years ago, he could have _killed_ Potter for disrespect such as this, but the power of the Goblin Nation was not, and by all rights, would never be that which it was so long ago. Wizards could _crush_ them, and they would, if it wasn't for the convenience that Gringotts provided for them. It also helped that if the Goblins were destroyed, the economy would collapse for weeks until the Wizards were able to properly set up the bank once more.

"Of course," Harry replied, taking another sip of his tea. It was remarkable, he mused, how even a few seconds of silence could add such tension to a conversation. Reaching into the breast pocket of his robe, Harry withdrew two business cards with his index and middle fingers, and carelessly tossed it on the table. By the way the light dimmed in Curledtoe's eyes as the spinning of the first card revealed the firm's emblem, Harry knew he had achieved the shock value he had desired. The Goblin had not even flipped over the second card yet.

"I take it," he said, his gaze directed towards the tea as he stirred it, "that you have heard of Dominic Waters?"

"I have," Curledtoe ground out, successfully speaking the understatement of the century. It had, after all, been Dominic Waters who had sued Gringotts on the behalf of a client some eight years ago, removing a vast sum from the Goblin coffers. An exceptionally talented lawyer, Waters had the much-coveted ability of twisting words to great effect, bringing tears to the eyes, and rage to the hearts of the Wizengamot. He was, by far, the most successful lawyer in the history of the Magical Legal system.

"Excellent," Harry said, once again sipping his tea. "I had the opportunity to discuss my position with Mr. Waters a few days ago, specifically the treatment of my vaults at the hands of Gringotts. A truly disappointing history, I said to him. He seemed rather inclined towards taking the offensive, so to speak," he said, smirking darkly at Curledtoe's ill-disguised look of horror, "but I thought we should wait. After all, if we can forge a comfortable, _profitable_ working relationship, I see no reason to be hostile … do you?"

Curledtoe forced both the smile on his face and the overly polite tone, knowing that if he so desired, the human could once again debilitate Gringotts' coffers. "But of course, Lord Potter. We here at Gringotts are determined to make this particular relationship _particularly_ profitable, as you put it."

Harry nodded pleasantly, sipping at his tea while Curledtoe flipped the other card over with some hesitancy. Again, his eyes dimmed slightly, for the Human had carried through with his earlier threat.

"Ah yes," Harry said, as if just recalling an ancient, amusing fact, "I also had the privilege of meeting with Edmund Albright later that same day. He quite graciously agreed to take over from Gringotts in his new capacity as the manager of my vaults. I understand that it is a terribly prestigious position, to be the Vault Manager of the Boy-Who-Lived. Something of a shock to me," Harry said, the small, dark smirk playing about his lips the only thing that indicated to Curledtoe that the airy, pleasantly apathetic manner of speech was fake.

"Of course," Curledtoe repeated, inwardly swearing. Potter had come through on his threat, and now the 'profitable' relationship that Curledtoe had promised, practically on threat of legal action, would mean that the profit would be one-way. Gringotts would earn nothing from managing the Potter Vaults or any other vaults that he was Heir to. The only income from Harry Potter would be the yearly 50 Galleon per vault Bank Fee, a rate that had been established and set in stone in Goblin Law. Yet, the interest rate that Potter's Vaults operated on would have to be increased significantly, for the relationship had to be 'profitable' in some way. Given that Potter could live comfortably off the interest just on his Trust Vault, when the increase in the interest rate on that vault _and_ on the Potter Family Vault was taken into consideration… he would be bleeding the Goblins dry.

Bitterly, Curledtoe resigned himself to having lost to the young human across from him. He had played his cards close to the chest, and now it was obvious that instead of stupidly trying to call his bluff, Curledtoe should have spent the last two weeks mollifying Potter into being lenient. Truth be told, Curledtoe had severely underestimated just how vengeful the human could be… had had expected to deal with a furious youngster, not with a calculating, manipulative one.

"I wonder, Lord Potter," Curledtoe began, "when does this come into effect?"

Harry, smiling slightly, drained the last of his tea, and examined the dregs. "Next month," he said, then smiled darkly, "oh … that would be tomorrow, wouldn't it? I apologize, Curledtoe, I've simply had _so_ much on my mind lately."

Inwardly seething, Curledtoe forced himself to nod. "Is that all, Lord Potter, or can Gringotts assist you further?"

Harry, now leaning back in his seat comfortably, spoke calmly, without a hint of the airy, pleasant tone he had employed earlier. He was not impolite, simply curt with his demands. "I expect, of course," he said, his entrancingly green eyes holding Curledtoe's gaze, "that my associates, Messrs. Waters and Albright, shall be treated with the respect and courtesy that they deserve. They shall not be denied any information that pertains to my holdings at Gringotts, and if they so desire, provided they give their oaths to examine nothing except for the files that pertain to me, they shall be given access to the Gringotts Repository."

Curledtoe's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Access to the _Repository_?" he snapped, "I think not! The information in the Repository is extremely sensitive, and for Goblin eyes _only_."

Harry inclined his head slightly, peering at Curledtoe, who seemed to have shrunk back slightly, following his outburst. "Yet," he said softly, "the information pertains to me, Curledtoe. I doubt that I have to remind you that if I choose to pursue legal action against Gringotts, that it will be less than easy for a search warrant to be obtained? You know as well as I do what would follow a decision like that."

Curledtoe, distractedly nodding and staring at the table, leaned his head against his fisted hand. "Yes, yes," he said vaguely, looking troubled, "this is true." His head snapped up violently, and he glared at Harry, who gazed back, unfazed. "Provided they give their oaths, you say?" he demanded, satisfied when Harry nodded, "Very well. We shall allow it this _one_ time, Lord Potter, but never again. You will have to swear your own oath, to never reveal that Gringotts allowed this … this _travesty_ to occur. Your associates will have to do the same."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He had thought of using that little tidbit of information for bartering, exchanging information for information, or information for trust or loyalty. Yet, it was a small loss … he had not truly thought that the idea would be successful, it had only come to him while he had been speaking a moment ago. Now, a moment later, he was poised to gain information from a location that Gringotts held at a level of security unmatched anywhere in the Magical World. Of course, the information would be on himself, and the past dealings of his family back to the very creation of Gringotts … but the value was in the fact that the Repository was a statement made by Goblins about the vaults they tended to, and the clients they assisted. This included remarks made by Goblins through the centuries, remarks about the members of the family who the Goblins had made contact with. It was these remarks that were useful, as the Goblins often had informants in places that could mean that there was knowledge about a family's past transactions – knowledge about things such as shady business deals, alliances and agreements with unsavory characters and the like – that could be used as blackmail material, if the Goblins decided to earn more by selling information… which they frequently did. By gaining access to those files, it would be simple for an oath-sworn Vault Manager like Edmund Albright to magically erase anything potentially harmful to Harry's position.

"Very well," Harry agreed, "I shall sign my vow as soon as I have alerted my associates to the fact that they shall, indeed, be allowed access to the Repository. Their signed vows shall follow mine." Curledtoe examined Harry, searching intently for any sign of falsehood, then nodded his agreement. This was the best he could get, and he would have to take it, being entirely aware that until Potter spoke to his new Manager and Lawyer, he was free to tell anyone. This would have to be agreed on in faith, something that Curledtoe normally refused to transact in.

"Anything else?" the Goblin asked, pleasantries disposed of for the moment.

Harry nodded once more. "I shall present myself before the Wizengamot on the fourth of August, during the first Convention of the month. As I mentioned the last time I was here, I shall require the test of Blood Purity, so have all the appropriate potions prepared. I will require your presence at the Wizengamot, and I fully expect that it shall be _you_ who is present, and not a subordinate of yours. Your presence is needed during the disputing of the Black Will, and the affirmations of Lordship."

Curledtoe blinked, then nodded. He had an important meeting on the fourth, but he would be forced to cancel it, it appeared. "Anything else?" he asked, unable to entirely keep the biting tone out of his voice.

Potter smirked amusedly, and nodded, much to Curledtoe's consternation. "The last time I was here, I had asked for a comprehensive Statement of my standings here. I understand that Edmund Albright will have access to these in my name, but I require a copy of my own."

A snap of Curledtoe's fingers later, a thick, nondescript brown folder sat on the table. Grasping it securely, Harry stood, nodded at Curledtoe, then smoothly walked out of the Bank. He had a few clothes to buy… if he needed to act the part, he certainly had to _look_ it, too. Stopping briefly to convert a thousand Galleons into Pounds, he walked out with a wad of cash an inch and a half thick.

* * *

The trip back to the Chamber was uneventful. Apparating to the shore of the lake as near to the Hogwarts wards as he could, Harry trekked across the pebbled, sandy beach in solitude, humming the tune to some Muggle song that had been playing in the shops he had ventured into in Knightsbridge. Ahead of him, the great cliffs behind Hogwarts loomed, the jagged steepness as daunting, as wondrous as the Castle itself. He smiled slightly at the thought of Hogwarts… what he considered his 'home' was a _Castle_, a thought that never failed to amuse him. 

'_Your house is in Victorian design, huh? Interesting. Oh, me? I just live in a __**Castle**__.'_

He grinned at the thought, kicking a pebble into the water. He could easily imagine himself saying something like that as a child, having spent nearly a decade in Dudley's shadow. Then, he grimaced, thinking of the punishment he would receive for making outlandish claims like that.

He approached the bare wall of the cliff, walking alongside it as he headed towards the small 'natural' alcove that lay ahead. His fingers brushed against the stone as he walked, and he continued whistling the tune. In his pocket, conveniently shrunken, were the multiple bags full of clothing and footwear that he had purchased… if he was going to assume his Lordship, he had to look the part, at the very least. Absolutely butchering the song as he now began whistling it, he spared a few thoughts for the contents of his purchases. Yes, he had spent _thousands_ upon thousands of pounds, as well as a considerable number of galleons in the Magical boutiques, but he didn't feel a shred of guilt. Having grown up wearing cast-offs, dyed shirts bought at surplus stores and Gypsy flea markets – only to still look shoddier than the Pikeys who stole then sold the clothes – he was then thrust into a world where he was worth millions… it was warranted, he thought. Having grown up poor, then finding fortune, he felt it was only natural of him to splurge beyond what was necessary. Rather than simply looking _good_, he would look _great_. He would convey the image that he sought to, that of a man with money and taste… the power would come from his status, and the respect would come from the way he used it.

As he took a quick look around, then ducked into the shadowed crevasse to enter the Chamber, he grimaced slightly. Despite having bought the clothes for the 'look', he felt an almost girlish sense of anticipation and excitement to try them on and _really_ wear them. He smiled then, thinking of the little present that he'd bought for Tonks, a token of his appreciation for the invaluable help she had provided over the last month.

On entering the Chamber, he found it to be empty. A note stuck on the door to the bedroom, the way Tonks always left her notes, indicated that she would be back in the early evening. He smiled, seeing the smiley-face signature that she always included at the end of her notes, and took the bags out of his pocket. A wave of his wand removed the shrinking spell on them, and they expanded immediately, cluttering up the bed. He chuckled, and began waving his wand, thankful for magic, especially in situations such as these.

The shirts immediately lost their creases, then flew into the closet, settling tidily on the clothes-hangers. The robes followed next, settling themselves similarly, and then the various trousers that he had bought. It was somewhat entertaining to watch clothes of different colors flying through the air and organizing themselves in the closet. Underwear and socks, belts and tight vests worn under the clothing flew to their places next, clothing that Harry was _very_ grateful to have… in the past, he had had the misfortune of once again wearing either Dudley's cast-offs, or transfigured clothing. Lastly, the shoes arranged themselves on the shoe-racks on the floor. Eyeing the new set of boots that he had bought, Harry smiled inwardly… of all his purchases, the boots were his favorite, inexplicably so. They were entirely normal in appearance, sturdily crafted and bearing steel toes, the deep brown leather seemed to gleam. They had been expensive, and of a brand that Harry had never heard of, yet they were incredibly comfortable, and gave him an odd sense of strength when he had tried them on. Recalling the expression on one cashier's face, as he had paid his bill by picking out hundred-pound bills from a large roll of cash, he grinned again.

Altogether pleased with his day, as everything had gone extremely smoothly, he changed into something comfortable. Wearing a pair of shorts and running shoes, leaving his upper body bare, and feeling especially comfortable in his new clothes, he walked into the small training room that he had set up. The room was square, twenty feet by twenty feet, the floor covered with weights and other exercise paraphernalia. He had transfigured everything in the room, using permanent-weight charms and a multitude of shaping spells to create what he now had. The previous contents of the room were simply large, heavy metal poles meant to be swung around for exercise. He now retained only a few of them, for he was better served by using them in some exercises. The most defining feature of the room, however, was the enchantment on the ceiling, a variation of the enchantment on the ceiling of the Great Hall. It showed the sky outside, but the variation was that it somehow gave a touch of reality to the weather. When it would rain, there would be a certain sensation of moistness in the room, almost an illusion. When the sun shone, however, the effect seemed to be magnified to the point where Harry's skin actually got tanned by it. As Tonks put it, much to Harry's amusement, if she were not a Metamorphmagus, she would have used the room for tanning herself while in the underground Chamber.

After warming up, he spent two and a half hours working out, pushing his body to the limit. Covered in sweat, muscles tense and rippling from the intensive work out, he finally stopped, laying the dumbbell in his hands down. As he warmed down, he heard footsteps approach, and grinned when Tonks entered the room. She stared at him appreciatively, letting loose a wolf-whistle before crinkling her nose.

"For the love of Merlin, Harry, did you kill an animal in here? It smells awful!" she exclaimed, trying to hold in her laughter as he glared at her.

"It can't be that bad," he insisted, then grinned devilishly at her. Her eyes widened, and she attempted to flee, but he grabbed her quickly, and wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her close to him.

Laughing hysterically, yet thrashing against his grip, she shrieked at him, pounding her fists on his chest. All it did was make him smirk, and pull her closer, pressing her body tightly against his. "Aww, that's just disgusting, Harry!" she complained, still laughing, "You've got sweat all over me!"

He grinned at her, his smile disarming as always. She relaxed into his arms, shaking her head in a 'what-am-I-to-do-with-you' manner, making him laugh again. "Come on, then, d'you really want to run away from me?" Harry asked, playfully pouting at her.

"I'm having second thoughts about letting you grab me, Potter," she replied, grinning at him and kissing his cheek. She pulled away a second later, looking revolted, and spluttered "Yuck, sweat!" He burst into laughter, releasing her.

A smile on his face, he took her hand in his as he walked towards the pool room. "_Letting_ me grab you, missy?" he asked, laughing at her playful scowl.

"Get out of your clothes, then," she said, tugging gently on his shorts, "and get into the pool. Merlin, you smell like a Dragon's ass."

He pouted again, and she stuck her tongue out at him, already pulling her own robes off. As he acquiesced, undressing next to her, his eyes met hers. She glared at him for a second, but then her usual happiness-filled gaze returned, and she winked at him, making him smile. Having taken off his shorts and shoes faster than Tonks could take off all her clothes, Harry grinned, and grabbed her into his arms, then leapt into the pool with her. She shrieked, and upon surfacing, glared at him, swatting his shoulder, bare from the waist down.

Standing in the pool, he held her tightly, her legs rising to wrap around his hips. "You know," he said, "you're kind of pretty." She blinked at him, then burst into laughter, kissing him between giggles.

"And you're the oddest man I've ever met, but I suppose you'll do," she said, grinning happily at him, and receiving a grin in return.

As he asked her about her day, his fingers nimbly danced over her front, caressing her gently as he unbuttoned her shirt and discarded it, then helped her out of her bra and panties. Undressing her underwater wasn't as exciting as doing it when he could actually see her skin being revealed inch by inch, but it had some odd quality of exciting him in a manner that made it seem as if he were unwrapping a gift. As always, the sight of her naked body excited him – despite the view being distorted by the rippling water – but he quelled his libido forcefully, and pulled her back against his body.

"I've been wondering," he murmured, nuzzling her neck, "why you were fainting so much when you first came over this summer."

She laughed softly, caressing his skin, and replied "Took you so long to ask, eh?" He smiled slightly in response, and feeling his lips curve against her neck, she shivered. "At the Ministry, I got hit by that leg locker curse, and I fell backwards. I was pretty lucky, 'cause if I'd been an inch out of position when I fell, the back of my head would've hit the corner of one of the stairs near the archway. I still hit the stairs, but I hit the flat part, and that gave me a bit of a concussion. The Healers told me that too much excitement could make me black out, but I wasn't really expecting to get that excited over the next few days, was I?"

He laughed, pulling her up slightly so that her breasts rested on his shoulders, her head leaning down slightly to look at him. "And I excited you, did I?" he murmured, kissing the tip of her chin.

She blushed initially, then smirked at him. "Of course you did," she replied, now leering at him, "the first thing I saw in your room was your tight little bum, and then you turned around." She winked at him, and he blanched for a second, then burst into laughter. She kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck snugly, and whispered "Yeah, you excited me."

A slight blush still gracing their cheeks, he kissed her back, pulling away with a look of delight. "You're amazing," he declared, drawing a happy smile on her face. Then, he smirked at her playfully, and asked "So, what was that 'seduction' about?" The blush that immediately crossed her face made him laugh out loud.

"I dunno," she murmured, blushing shyly with the same, virginal innocence that had driven him wild that night, "I'd fallen for you pretty hard, but I was scared… you were already taken. I tried talking myself out of doing anything, but all I accomplished was to convince myself to do the exact opposite. Then I realized that even though I'd convinced myself to do it, I didn't have the guts to actually go through with it… so I took a bravery potion. It was bloody mortifying, the way I acted." She stopped talking, blushing brightly, and when he laughed, she groaned in embarrassment and tucked her head back under his chin.

"Don't be embarrassed," he murmured, lifting her chin until she looked into his eyes, "it was the sexiest thing I ever saw." She turned even redder, but he could see that she was slightly pleased at his comment. "And I'm glad," he continued, now cupping her cheek, "I'm glad that you didn't give up on me."

She smiled prettily, and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad, too," she whispered.

"Tell me," he asked, now looking a little serious, "Why did you believe me so easily? I mean, if some kid told me that he was learning from a dead Founder, that he was older than he should be… I'd dismiss him as a lunatic. You just accepted it."

She smiled at him slightly, cupping his cheeks and gazing into his eyes. "It was _you_," she whispered, as if it answered everything, and as he realized a second later, as joy filled his heart, it did. He blinked, having frozen for a second, then pressed his lips against hers urgently, his hand rising to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he kissed her. The urgency, the passion in the kiss was incredible, and they clutched at each other in desperation as their lips met time and time again. Finally slumping against each other, they drew heavy breaths, cognizant of the sudden change in their relationship.

Breathing so heavily that she was almost gasping, she giggled slightly, and said "In any case, you were _eighteen_." Remembering the joke from that first evening, he burst into laughter. Hugging her to him, he kissed her forehead and relaxed.

The warm, soothing water lapped against their skin as he sat on the underwater ledge, pulling her into his lap so that she sat sideways. The water level was just under her chin, just below his collarbone, and in complete relaxation, they simply sat there, holding each other.

The silence was peaceful, soothing… romantic; it seemed almost a tragedy to break such a companionable silence. So Tonks was a little surprised when Harry spoke.

"I'm in love with you," he whispered, the words unnaturally loud despite the soft manner in which they were spoken. It was the first time either of them had said it out loud. He felt her stiffen slightly in his arms, and he cast a worried look at her, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Are you?" she asked, after a pause. The silence had grown uncomfortable now; tension seemed to mar a perfect setting. Slowly, she inclined her head up, and looked in his eyes. He swallowed, feeling uncomfortable, and looked back into her eyes, finding them unreadable for the first time. A slow panic began to grow within him, and even as he ached to squash it like a pest, he found himself unable to do anything but give in to it. Had she… had she not written, each day, in her notes that she loved him? Had she not ended every note with the line that brought such happiness to his heart? Had he not labored enough over this, had he not gone through enough pain in accepting that Cho _was_ right, that there would be another that he would love? Had the last twenty minutes meant absolutely nothing?

He had loved her since before she had touched him that night two weeks ago, and he had lied to himself only to find out in the most fulfilling, yet painful way, that it was indeed true.

"Yes," he said, his throat suddenly dry. Nervousness, fear and sadness together could not even _dent_ the conviction in his voice.

She smiled at him sadly, her hands rising to caress his cheeks gently. "And I love you, Harry," she whispered, "more than I can even understand." The tension slipped away immediately, and with it, Harry's worry. He sighed deeply, slumping slightly and feeling almost boneless. In those few seconds, he had experienced fear greater than anything else he had ever even imagined.

"Then why are you sad?" he asked, his hands caressing her cheeks just as hers held his. She saw a wetness in his eyes that could not be attributed to the water, and it stirred her heart.

She kissed him, gently at first, then more passionately, sliding her hands from his cheek to the back of his head, threading her fingers through his hair and tightly holding his lips to hers. His response was similar, his arms holding her body securely, the power in his grip making her feel safe, rather than threatened. His tongue sought hers, sliding against it gently even as their lips met forcefully. It was both cathartic and worrying… while the kiss was reassuring, for it was filled with the love that she so obviously felt for him, she had not actually answered him.

When she finally withdrew, tears stained her cheeks. Still, she smiled bravely at him. "What's there to be sad about?" she asked, smiling widely even though all she wanted to do was to cry in his arms. She hurriedly wiped away the tears, smiling at him, then kissed him again. "I'm not sad," she whispered, "I am happier than I've ever been, Harry. I love you."

He repeated her words, though his gaze indicated that he did not believe her entirely about the sadness. His lips brushed against her forehead, and smiling slightly, she slipped her head back into the crook of his neck, leaning against him once more. The contact between their bodies, that of bare skin against bare skin… it suddenly meant so much more, it suddenly felt that much more reassuring. The tension slipped away entirely, and they continued sitting there, the silence not just comfortable, but _comforting_.

'_What's there to be sad about?'_ he thought, a sinking feeling telling him that he already knew the answer: Cho. He doubted, of course, that she bore Cho any ill will at all… that was completely unlike the person that she was. However, just like any other woman, she would be dead-set against the idea of sharing him… and there was no possible way that Harry could even _believe_ that he could find the 'conviction' within himself to ask it of her. _'Fuck,'_ he thought, quite eloquently evaluating his situation. He was hopelessly in love with both women, and hopelessly capable of resolving the situation in any manner.

Tonks' eyes flicked up for a second, seeing the conflict clearly written on his face. He seemed so vulnerable then, so confused and lost. She looked back down at the water and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She felt him shift against her body slightly, drawn out of his reverie by the slight movement of her body as she took in the breath. Despite her obvious problem with her situation, despite everything that made life a trying experience, she felt… content. Where she was right now was comforting. Sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped tightly, lovingly around her, the feel of his skin against hers, added to the sexuality, and the lack thereof, of their situation… it all made for a romantic, comfortable feeling.

And then, he ruined it.

"Cho's going to be here in a while," he whispered.

'_Fuck!'_ she thought, inwardly groaning at the ruined moment. She would have shown some amount of her anger, despite not wanting to make her 'problem' obvious, but one look at his face silenced her. He looked so lost that she found herself shocked at the wetness that suddenly emerged in her eyes.

"Hey," she said softly, turning and caressing his cheeks, "this has to happen, Harry, better now than later." Some spark of life seemed to enter his eyes, and he nodded, slowly at first, then more decisively.

His eyes met hers, and he smiled weakly, pressing a kiss to her lips. "God, I'm clueless," he whispered, his pain shining through in his gaze, the vibrant emerald green never failing to cause a reaction, "I can't lose you, Tonks, and I can't lose her."

She reciprocated his sad smile, a bit jarred by the depth of the emotion in his eyes. Her sad smile remained as she once again caressed his cheek, silently staring at him until he averted his gaze. She could almost _feel_ her heart melting, the depth of her problem seeming small in comparison to his, and she shivered slightly despite the warmth of the water, feeling a strange urge to make a sacrifice in some way to make things easier for him. Then, a second later, an opposite emotion coursed through her body, one that told her that she had _already_ made a sacrifice… and she accepted it, without knowing why, or what the sacrifice could possibly be.

He laughed harshly, a barking sound so reminiscent of Sirius that it startled her, and whispered, "Fuck… this should be the happiest day I've ever had, but I ruined it for myself." He shook his head, and rose slowly, still holding her to him, now carrying her bridal style as he strode up the steps that led out of the pool. For some reason, he seemed almost reluctant to let her go, she thought, and was proved correct as he set her on her feet, but kept holding her close.

Not struggling against his embrace at all, she nonetheless looked at him worriedly, and he purposely avoided her gaze. His hand reached out and lifted a towel from the rack, wrapping it around her torso and gently drying her skin with the softest of strokes. She kissed his neck, moaning slightly as his hand brushed a specific spot, but he moved slightly, denying her the access that she wanted. Feeling slightly rejected, she stiffened, yet made no movement to push away from him. As he wrapped the towel around her torso and secured it, he whispered an apology into her ear, and brushed his lips against her cheek.

She looked into his eyes as he pulled away, and he held her gaze with his own sad one for a second, then blinked. Silently, she took a towel from the rack, and used it to towel him dry just as he had dried her off. Then, taking his hand, she led him into the bedroom to get dressed, still silent.

What would come, would come.

* * *

Cho stood next to the lake waiting for Harry, whiling away the time by skipping stones across the water. She was a bit confused as to why he had asked her to meet him _here_ of all places… while he had kept his secrets, she had gathered, at the very least, that he wasn't a fan of Dumbledore. So why meet her so close to the school? She had come here at his request… he had asked her, a month ago on the train, to be there with him when he underwent his Magical Maturity, and she had immediately agreed, flattered that he would ask her to be with him during such a personal experience. His maturity, he said, was due to start at 7:53 PM, and it had just turned 7. 

She had foregone robes this time, wearing only a pretty red summer dress. Without being vain, she knew she looked good. _'Perhaps,'_ she thought, somewhat disgruntled, _'perhaps even better than Tonks looks.'_ With the red dress accentuating her slender, yet curvy figure, the setting sun bringing a slight flush to her cheeks, and her hair falling down her back like a waterfall, she looked far better than she modestly believed.On the ground next to her was a small bag that contained a few changes of clothing, a tightly-sealed flask of exotic tea, and two very important letters.

Hearing the sound of a rock moving, she turned, only to see a troubled-looking Harry Potter emerge from a darkened alcove in the cliff wall. He looked incredible… apparently he had finally bought clothes that fit him, for he wore a nice collared shirt, and a pair of slacks, both of which were form-fitting enough to clearly indicate the muscularity of his body. What was amusing to her was that even though he had bought the clothes himself – she knew him too well to think that someone had helped him with his decisions – his sense of style was impeccable… he knew what fit of clothing flattered him best, and he knew what colors looked good. It was a huge rarity among males his age, one that made her smile appreciatively.

As soon as he spotted her, his expression changed to genuine happiness, a large grin stretching his face. She smiled back happily, and a moment later, was snugly ensconced in his arms, reunited with the man she loved.

She could smell him, that indescribable, yet unmistakable scent that was so reminiscent of some of the experiences they had shared, and sighing happily, she relaxed in his arms. Pulling back to look into her eyes, he smiled – with a hint of sadness, she noted – and whispered "God, you look so beautiful." She blushed prettily at the praise, and gave in readily when his soft lips brushed hers, his tongue finding hers gently. When he pulled away, she was breathing heavily, looking content. It was remarkable, she mused, that he did not even _realize_ what he did to her with just a simple kiss. It was overwhelming… passionate, yet loving all at the same time. It was as if he was blissfully unaware of everything he was… how he walked with such feline grace, how he held himself as if his body were a compressed, coiled spring, simply waiting to fly into action. It made him all the more desirable, and yet, he studiously ignored every female – and male – who ogled him.

"Thanks for coming," he murmured, still holding her and stroking her cheek with his knuckles. She could see beyond the false cheer that he projected, see the inner turmoil that plagued him. Despite the overwhelming love that she felt for him, and despite the overwhelming love that she could clearly see in his eyes, she still heard the nasty little voice in her head that whispered _"At least he feels bad for fucking around behind my back…"_

Blinking, and feeling guilty for even such a normal, warranted thought, she kissed him gently. "Harry," she whispered, cupping his cheeks, "where're we going?"

He smiled at her, and lifted her bag, leading the way. "We're going to the Chamber of Secrets, Cho," he said, smiling slightly. A look of disbelief on her face, Cho's mind finally fell into place when Harry, already walking, laughed and called out "Coming?"

She caught up to him, and in her excitement, began asking him question after question, which he laughingly answered, finally letting her glimpse the parts of his life that he had kept secret. The expression of awe did not leave her face until they had actually entered the Chamber, where she asked "Salazar _Slytherin_ made this place? It's a bit… _gaudy_, don't you think?" The expression of stunned disbelief on her face made him laugh, and he told her about the descendent who had so garishly decorated the Chamber.

Harry led her to Slytherin's portrait to introduce her, and found that his Master was already waiting for them. Bowing gracefully, Lord Slytherin formally introduced himself, and exchanged a few pleasantries with Cho, being polite enough to answer a few of her questions. He had gone through the same experience when Harry had introduced him to Tonks, and was quite amused to find that the questions from both young ladies were quite similar. It wasn't that shocking, he supposed, as their Ravenclaw minds thought similarly… unlike others, who would ask him obvious questions like 'Are you Dark?'

After a few minutes of fielding questions amicably, Lord Slytherin excused himself, claiming that he had some work to take care of. Dubiously nodding, Cho walked away with Harry, wondering what exactly a Portrait needed to do to that was so pressing a matter. She followed Harry through the Chamber, listening to him as he told her about the history of the place that they now stood in. The Basilisk, and its home, she learned, was on the level _above _this one… at least, it _was, _until Harry had killed it three years ago. Presently, they walked through a doorway which bore a solemn wooden sign that read 'Living Quarters'.

Entering, Cho saw Tonks for the first time in what was two weeks for her, but roughly a month and a half for Tonks. Tonks sat on a sofa, facing away from them, but turned towards Harry and Cho when they entered the room. She looked beautiful, Cho saw, radiant as always.

Allowing a small smile to curve her lips, Cho greeted the older woman warmly. "Hullo, Tonks," she said, seeing Harry wince slightly from the corner of her eye, "how are you?"

Tonks, looking a bit pale, offered a slightly weak smile in response, and replied "Not all that bad, I suppose. And yourself?"

Cho responded similarly, and the two exchanged pleasantries in an oddly formal way, similar to Cho's conversation with Lord Slytherin. Just as Cho inwardly thought _'I'm giving it away!'_ Tonks panicked, thinking _'Oh god, she knows!'_ Still, revealing nothing, the two continued to chat, and Cho took a seat near Tonks.

As Harry, looking paler now, moved to put Cho's bag away, she stopped him. Grinning beautifully and making his heart flip-flop, she opened the bag and withdrew the flask of tea.

"You _have_ to try this, both of you," she declared, showing them the flask, "it's the most fantastic tea on Earth."

Tonks, unable to stop herself, smiled at Cho's enthusiasm, nodding agreeably. "Did you make it?" she inquired, "And what kind of tea is it?"

Cho set it on the table, waiting for Harry to get back, and spoke excitedly. "It's this stuff my mum picked up a few weeks ago. She isn't a fan of Earl Grey and the sort of tea we generally drink in Britain, so she owl-orders these exotic leaves from these Merchants who trade in magical teas. This one's from India, from this plantation in a place called Darjeeling. The trader told my mum that a Unicorn fell asleep in the patch where the leaves used in this came from, and after it left, the patch glowed for a few days. When they tried the tea that was made from that patch, it was, and I quote, 'the most delicious thing they had ever tasted'."

Tonks looked impressed. "A Unicorn, huh? Wow," she said, making Harry laugh. He had come back from the bedroom while Cho had been speaking, and had caught the end of the conversation.

"Lets try it, then," he offered, waving his wand and conjuring a few teacups and saucers, some milk and some sugar. Cho poked him in the side as he sat, making him yelp. "What was that for?"

She stuck her tongue out, and gestured to the flask. "Heating charm, you berk," she replied, laughing at his mock-insulted expression. He acquiesced, waving his wand once more, and when Cho took the cover off the flask, a plume of steam emerged. She poured the tea for all three of them, then sat back. "You're supposed to drink it black," she said, as Harry reached for the sugar, "even though it's… murky green." He grinned, and took a sip.

Immediately, his eyes widened, and he took another sip, then looked up again. "This… this is incredible stuff!" he exclaimed. A moment later, Tonks echoed his sentiments with equal gusto, a large smile on her face as she sampled it. The three quickly drained their cups, and Cho poured once again.

This time around, all three decided to savor the drink, sipping at it slowly. "Cho," Harry said, "you _have_ to get your hands on more of this stuff. It's fantastic."

She smiled, replying "I can get my mum to buy it. It's bloody expensive, though… she paid six whole Galleons for a small tin."

Tonks choked on her tea, looking up with wide eyes. "_Six Galleons_?" she asked incredulously, "That's – well, I guess they'd charge more for Unicorn tea, but still… that's robbery! That's how much I made in a day last year!"

Cho nodded her agreement. "That's what I told my mum. Still, I'm happy she bought it, it's the best tea I've ever had."

They sat in silence for a while, sipping at the tea. Surprisingly, it was Cho who broke the silence. "So," she stated calmly, "I suppose we have something to talk about." Both Harry and Tonks' heads immediately snapped up, a slight flush of guilt staining their cheeks.

For a second, there was silence, then Harry sighed. "Yeah, Cho," he started, "we do." He paused for a second to tug at his collar, then continued. "I haven't been honest with you," he said, "over the last two weeks – well, it was a lot longer for Tonks and I because, well… y'know, the time-dilation – I haven't been, well… faithful."

He paused, realizing that his nervousness was causing his speech to deteriorate, knowing that he had to explain himself properly. Across from him, Cho's gaze was steely, unwavering. There was neither acceptance nor reproach in her gaze, she simply stared at him emotionlessly. On the sofa adjacent to them, Tonks was frozen, completely silent and staring at the ground. Her cheeks were flushed, Harry noted, as were Cho's. The heat he felt on his face meant that his cheeks were probably similarly red.

Harry once again tugged at his collar, then pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I've fallen for her, Cho," he whispered, knowing that it was bluntly put, but unable to think of any other way of saying it. He laughed harshly, "I guess I proved your prophecy right, huh?"

She stared at him, and he tugged at his collar uncomfortably. "I guess you did, Harry," she said, her voice flat. No matter how much she had prepared herself for this, it still hurt. Even spending the last two weeks crying herself to bed each night, that pain did not even _compare_ to the pain she felt now. "Do you even love me?" she asked, her voice harsh. She squashed the guilt that she felt when he recoiled, a look of hurt in his eyes.

"You know I do," he whispered softly, "you know I love you." He tugged at his collar again, feeling extremely hot for some reason.

"Do I?" she asked harshly, then turned to Tonks. "For all I know," she said, staring at Tonks but addressing Harry, "you've spent the last two weeks – oh, no… it was 'a lot longer for Tonks and you' – _fucking_ all day long, without having the decency to even tell the person you're _engaged_ to that she isn't the only person in your life." Harry flinched, and Cho felt some perverse satisfaction at being able to hand back some of the pain she had felt for the last two weeks. "Merlin, Harry," she continued, "had you already started fucking her before you proposed to me? So, Harry, tell me… _do _I really know that you love me?"

Tonks was silently crying now, tears trickling down her cheek. She had not even imagined that the conversation could go so badly. Each insult to Harry struck her like a blow to the gut, drawing fresh tears.

Cho turned back to Harry, again squashing the guilt as she saw the unshed tears in his eyes. He moved off the couch and knelt before her, taking her immobile hand in his.

"I swear to you," he whispered, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear to you that I didn't mean to cause you pain. You're right, I should have come to you immediately, I should have talked to you about it." She glared at him, and he fell silent, allowing the tears to slip down his cheeks. He took some solace from the fact that she hadn't wrenched her hand out of his grasp.

Cho's cheeks were bright red now, and she looked to be struggling to keep something in. "You're right," she snapped, "you should have told me. But that still doesn't answer my question, does it? How do I know that you love me? How do I know that I'm not just being strung along here? How do I know that I mean more to you than just someone to fuck when she's not around?" She usually never used language like that, so it made her words all the more painful to him, for he knew that he must have caused her such pain and grief that it had changed her entire personality.

"All I can say," he said quietly, "is that I do love you. When I told you that day that I loved you, I meant it with every fiber of my being. All I can hope for is that you believe me, even if I don't deserve it." He shivered slightly… even as she glared down at him with such fury, she had never looked more beautiful. Despite the situation he was in, he felt an uncontrollable lust building within him. All he could think about was taking her into his arms and ravishing her for hours and hours, making her scream in pleasure, making her feel the extent of his love for her. Trying, and failing to squash the thoughts, he tugged at his collar in frustration.

She stared at him for a few more minutes, sitting silently and never once blinking. Her eyes held his, almost as if they were reaching into his soul and weighing his truthfulness. Behind her, on the couch, Tonks continued weeping silently. She felt guilty for having started this… _thing_, having been the one to instigate the relationship between Harry and herself. While she felt no remorse for loving him, she felt the pain that he felt, and ardently wished that she had kept her feelings to herself, if only to spare him the pain he felt now. Yet, gazing at the two, she felt a growing lust within her, an unbearable urge to hold Cho down and help Harry worship her body for hours, to attempt to physically translate the love that he felt for her. Cheeks stained red by the lewd thoughts in her mind, she kept her head bowed in shame.

"Please, Cho," he whispered, holding her hand tighter and almost begging her, "please believe me. I would rather die than knowingly hurt you. If…" he paused, tugging at his collar irritably, "is it boiling hot in here, or am I hallucinating?"

Cho looked at him for another second, judging him. Then, satisfied, she gave in to the lust potion that she had mixed into the tea, moving forward and crushing her lips against Harry's.

The force of the movement pushed Harry to the ground, but he paid it no heed, instead holding Cho tightly, and losing all control over his body. The kiss was intense, tongues slipping against each other, hands wandering, squeezing tightly. He moaned into her mouth as he squeezed her buttocks tightly, pressing her body further against his.

Sitting on the couch, Tonks stared with wide eyes as the two of them rutted on the floor like wild animals. With a loud _crash_, the small table was thrown off to the side by an errant limb, the flask of tea and the teacups crashing to the ground near the wall with a shower of glass and porcelain. As the two of them kissed so passionately, Tonks made to run into the bedroom, knowing that it would take little more for her to loose control. Then, as she began to move, Harry's arm snapped out, his hand grasping hers tightly, and he pulled her down to the ground with them. As soon as her body hit the floor, Harry's lips had moved away from Cho's, and found Tonks', kissing her with equal passion. Every last shred of control evaporated from Tonks' mind, and she gave into the kiss with a moan of pleasure.

As Harry pulled her closer to him, Tonks felt a lance of surprise as Cho made no protest, instead moving down Harry's body to kiss and lick his neck, and what little of his defined chest that she could see in the unbuttoned area of his shirt. Harry's right arm held Cho tightly, hand gripping her buttocks and holding her firmly against him, while his left arm pulled Tonks to him, hand gripping her similarly. Then, unable to control herself, Tonks detached her lips from Harry's, and pushed Cho aside, leaping on her and pressing her lips to the beautiful Asian's. Amusingly, it was Harry who moaned first, the action making him lose the last shreds of self control. As he moaned, Cho cupped Tonks' cheeks gently, then lowered her mouth and began licking away the tears still present on the Metamorphmagus' face. Then, as the two witches grappled at each other, passionately kissing and stroking, he began unclothing the two of them and himself with hurried, impatient motions.

Once contact between the three had moved to a skin-to-skin level, all was lost. The three rutted against each other like animals in heat, sweat-slicked bodies rising and falling with the tides of pleasure that struck them. Never before had they indulged themselves as they did now, and it was only in the haze of their post-coital bliss, after multiple encounters that had worn their energy away, that any semblance of rational thought returned to them.

The three had, over the course of innumerable orgasms, moved from the couches to the bedroom, collapsing on the king-sized bed and continuing their orgiastic exploration of each others' bodies. Now, coming off the high, they regarded each other with dumbstruck shyness, unable to formulate any kind of statement. Fully aware of what they had done, they were now naked, still languorously wrapped around each other and covered in sweat and bodily fluids. Within each of their minds, they warred between the impulse to pull away and cover themselves up, and the knowledge that it wouldn't matter… that each of the others in the room was now intimately acquainted with their features.

The silence was broken when Harry, sitting up against the head of the bed, doubled over, gripping his stomach. His features were contorted into a look of pain, and he gasped, falling to the side. Both Tonks and Cho immediately panicked, cradling him in their arms without any attention to their nakedness, repeatedly inquiring what was wrong. His face having lost all pallor, and with a look of nausea on his face, Harry could only stutter out one word.

"M-Ma-Maturity," he gasped out, then retched slightly, a look of disbelief in his eye as he realized that the three of them had spent what was virtually _three_ _hours_ in bed. He felt a rush of pride, considering the stamina he had displayed, but was rudely interrupted by a painful bout of retching as he reflected on the events that had transpired.

Eyes widening, the two women quickly acted, moving him to the edge of the bed, so that his head was almost falling off it. Sprinting into the other room, Cho retrieved their wands and returned, waving hers to conjure a simple bucket, which she placed next to the bed right by Harry's head, in case he felt the urge to vomit. A moment later, he did, making the two women wince and look away, lest the sight, sound and smell combine to inspire nausea in them, too.

For the next few hours, both women knew, Harry would be incapacitated and unable to talk. What had just happened, however, needed to be talked about, or things would simply worsen. Harry was lying sideways on the bed on his stomach, his hands clutching the edge of the bed tightly and his head dangling off the edge of the bed so that he didn't vomit on it. The two women were sitting on either side of him, touching him in one way or another to gently reassure him of their presence. Curiously, all three were still naked, and had made no move, as yet, to retrieve their clothing.

For Tonks, it was getting unbearable. This time, it was she who broke the silence. "What – What just happened?" she asked quietly, looking down at her knees.

Cho, who was concernedly gazing at Harry, now looked up. "What d'you mean?" she responded, realizing too late what her answer must have sounded like.

"Don't play with me," Tonks growled, furiously suppressing the blush that threatened to explode out of her as certain memories came back, "I know you used some potion on us. What I want to know is _why_… why the hell you decided that would be a good idea?"

Cho, seeing red, lashed out in anger. "Don't you _dare_," she snapped, "don't you _dare_ reprimand me for putting Lust Potion into the tea, considering what you've been doing behind my back for the past two weeks." Harry, delirious yet somehow aware of what they were talking about, groaned in discomfort.

Tonks recoiled as if she had been struck, then in a much calmer voice, asked "Lust Potion? You had to have known what would happen, so why on earth would you…?" She trailed off, seemingly lost for words.

Cho lost her angry demeanor, looking down. Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes, and with a curious look of respect in them, quietly said "Because I met a woman who was willing to sacrifice everything for her love, and she asked me to do the same."

Tonks, now more perplexed than she was earlier, stared at Cho, intelligently mumbling "Huh?" In response, Cho simply waved her wand silently. Across the room, her small, black bag rose off the ground and floated towards the bed. Grabbing it out of the air, Cho reached in and produced two letters, which she then passed to Tonks.

"Read those, starting with the sealed letter addressed to you. Then read the open one that's addressed to me," Cho spoke, her voice soft. As Tonks dubiously took the letters, then began reading them, Cho turned her attention to Harry, conjuring a wet cloth and using it to dab at his sweaty forehead. From the times she had witnessed Harry's magic come alive when they had made love, she knew better than most how powerful he truly was. While her Maturity had lasted nearly three hours, indicating that she was far above average in terms of power, she knew that this would be an even longer experience.

On Harry's other side, Tonks had finished rereading the first letter a third time. Eyes wide, she set it down, then picked up the other letter. A few minutes later, looking weak, she put it down. Then, much to Cho's surprise, Tonks hugged her knees to her chest, and sat in silence, staring at the wall. There was no movement from her for the next ten minutes, but just as Cho was beginning to get worried, Tonks relaxed slightly.

Turning to Cho, she spoke. "You – I gave you this? I asked you to do something like this, and you actually agreed?"

Cho smiled slightly, and nodded. "You visited my home two weeks ago, two days after I got engaged," she said.

"You agreed… and you swore a Magical Oath?" Tonks asked, still looking at Cho in disbelief. Cho simply smiled at Tonks and shook her head. Tonks, eyes bulging, asked "I put that much faith in you? I put enough faith in you to ask you to do something like _this_, to help someone in love with _your _fiancé, and then Obliviate myself of it?" Here, Cho smiled again, then nodded.

Tonks seemed to go boneless for a few moments. Then, in a flurry of movement, she had moved across Harry, and had grabbed Cho into a tight hug, almost refusing to let go. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed for Cho, who was extremely aware of Tonks' bare breasts pressing against hers, but the discomfort soon passed when she saw that Tonks was crying.

Pulling back from the sobbing Metamorphmagus, she smiled slightly, wiping her tears away, and asked "What's there to be sad about?" Tonks shivered slightly, recalling how she herself had used the same words earlier that day.

"I don't know," the Metamorphmagus sobbed, "I don't know if I can do this, I don't know how _you_ can do this… Merlin, I'm so confused!"

Cho allowed Tonks back into her embrace, holding the older woman tightly. As much as she didn't want to, it was time to make good on the magical oath that she had made to herself: to go through on what Tonks had asked of her.

"You know as well as I do, Tonks, that no matter what happens, you'll still love him," Cho whispered. "Harry is easy to love, he's easy to like, he's easy to spend time with… the only thing difficult about him is letting go of him, and you know this. If you distance yourself from him, your love will only grow, that much I can assure you – I tried, once, last year – and then, it gets painful."

Tonks nodded against Cho's shoulder, her eyes still full of tears. "But how do I do this with an open heart? How can _you_ do it, how can you stand to even touch me now, knowing how I feel about him?"

She smiled again, her sadness peeking through. "I can't," she whispered, "but I will. I could see, even that day a fortnight ago, how much you love him, Tonks. When you love someone that much, like we do, sacrifices have to be made. For us to be happy, he has to be happy, Tonks… and for him to be happy, he needs both of us. For that happiness, I must learn to love you, and you must learn to love me."

Tonks pulled back, her eyes wide. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but abruptly closed it with an audible click. She sat back, looking pensive, and turned her gaze to Harry. As Cho watched her, she saw the immediate love that entered Tonks' eyes as soon as she looked at Harry, despite the fact that the object of her love was currently vomiting once again.

A few minutes passed in a much more comfortable silence than earlier, Tonks simply staring at the wall pensively while her hand absently played with Harry's hair. Then, she turned to Cho, looking like she had made a decision.

"How do I learn to love you?" she asked, leaning in close as if to learn some sort of secret.

Cho nearly laughed, but managed to keep it to a small smile. Then, taking a deep breath, she leaned forward conspiratorially. "Like this," she said, then pressed her lips against Tonks'. The kiss was awkward at first, due to Tonks' surprise and reluctance, but she slowly gave in, enjoying the kiss on a purely physical basis. It was progress in its own way… a few hours ago, she would have been shocked, even repulsed by the idea. Perhaps 'repulsed' was the wrong word, for it was clear that Tonks _had_, in fact, harbored at least some intrigue, for otherwise the Lust Potion would not have caused her to be physically attracted to Cho.

Cho broke the kiss off gently, still cupping Tonks' cheek. Eyes closed, they rested their foreheads against each other, noses brushing. "We'll have to start out slow," Cho whispered breathily, "get ourselves used to the idea of touching another woman like that. The romantic side of things will progress from there, I hope… perhaps within a few years we will be as close to each other as we are to Harry."

Tonks mumbled her agreement, then whispered "Do you hate me?" She pulled back slightly, now looking the younger woman in the eye.

Cho blinked, and stared into Tonks' eyes for a few moments. Then, she shook her head. "Not anymore," she whispered.

* * *

What Tonks and Cho, and even Harry himself, had expected to be a five to six hour wait ended up taking nine hours and forty eight minutes to culminate. After the first two and a half hours, the binds on Harry's magic finally fell away, and his aura bloomed around him as his magic stabilized itself. It took the next seven hours for his maturity to fully pass, seven hours during which his magic was stabilized, introduced to his body in stages to accustom the magical pathways to holding and channeling such a massive amount. 

When Harry finally awoke, as he had fallen asleep once the nausea of having his magic unbound had passed, it took him a few moments to re-orient himself. On either side of him lay the women he loved, their bodies close to his, in constant, reassuring contact with his skin. As he stirred, moving into a sitting position, Tonks and Cho awoke. Immediately, they began questioning his health, making him laugh at the display of concern.

"I'm fine," he whispered, then continued in a normal voice "I'm better than fine, in fact. I'm finally whole again… it's a fantastic feeling." He looked up gratefully as Cho slipped him his wand, and he tapped his lips with it a few times, silently casting spells to wash and clean his mouth, freshen his breath and soothe his throat after all the retching and vomiting. Putting the wand down, he immediately felt Cho's lips against his own, then a moment later, she had pulled back, and it was now Tonks who's lips were pressed against his.

"Thank you," he whispered, the emotion in his voice making it crackle slightly, "thanks for loving me even when I don't deserve it." He finished quietly, and received a kiss on the cheek from Tonks and a warm embrace from Cho.

"If we only loved you when you deserved it," she amusedly said, "we'd have very little time left to do anything else. It's just easier to keep it as a full-time job." He stared at her for a second, then laughed the laugh of someone truly happy. His arms wrapped around their shoulders, holding their bodies against his as if he felt comforted and strong simply from their presence.

"I took the liberty of preparing the ritual potion for all three of us," he said, referring to the ritual to prevent any further manipulation to the Magical core, "and I'd really like both of you to do it with me. I… I don't want to take any chances," he said.

Tonks nodded first, followed immediately by Cho, and Harry smiled with relief. "The potion has to be drunk, and a short chant has to be incanted. There aren't any wand movements… all you have to do is lie on your back, completely still, and keep your wand over your heart, parallel to your body with the tip pointing towards your head."

It took an hour to practice and memorize the chant, then perform the rituals, but they finally accomplished it successfully. When Harry, who was the last to undergo the ritual, stood, a huge smile lit up his features. Seeing the expression on his face brought a smile to the lips of both women, who were pulled into ecstatic embraces one after the other.

Still grinning stupidly, Harry set Tonks down, and whispered "I'm free. I'm finally free."

* * *

An update, finally :P 

I should apologize… one should only write fanfiction if they regularly have the free time to write, and that certainly hasn't been the case with me. I've had a tough two semesters at college, with the future looking like it'll only be tougher. My personal life looks set to get more complicated too (getting engaged, whoo!), so that's more writing time lost. So, I'm sorry, I won't be able to update on a regular basis. This update itself has taken almost ten months to come out. I will try my best to write as I find the time, but I'm one of those authors who needs a good four to five hour stretch in which I can start out slow, then pound out a good 5000-8000 words. Therefore, I'll regretfully have to inform you that the next update will probably take a long time.

I'm hugely flattered by the reception that this fic has had… a simple seven chapters (until this one), only 70,000 words, but it's still been taken so well. Thanks for every review, PM and general encouragement that I've received.

**People to thank for this chapter:**

**CJCold** has again chipped in his thoughts to help with the quality control on what I write, and he was quite gracious in doing so, considering that it's been nearly ten months since I last asked for his help. **Cervus** and **Thalarian**, both fantastic authors and good friends, were instrumental in keeping me interesting in writing this story, and instrumental in helping me work past my (self-imposed?) mental block when it came to writing this chapter. **IP82** and **Taure** also contributed significant help with critiquing the chapter as I passed it on to them scene-by-scene. Thanks, all of you, for your patience and your help.

That's all, and good night.

-Apocalypso


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